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THE AUTHOB IN TRAMP ATTIRE. 

(From a Photograph taken in St. Petersburg.) 



A TRAMP TRIP 



HOW TO SEE EUROPE ON FIFTY CENTS A DAY 



BY 



LEE MERIWETHER 




NEW YORK 

HARPER & BROTHERS, FRANKLIN SQUARE 

London : 30 Fleet Street 

1887 






TBBUBKAKT 

OF CONGRESS I 

WASHIMOTOir 



Copyright, 1886, by Harper & Brothers. 



All rights reserved. 



^ 






TO 

THE DEAREST OF MOTHERS AND FATHERS 

8;l)is J3ook is Wcl^kaUh 

BY 

AN AFFECTIONATE SON 



PREFACE. 



The first-class tourist may see the beauties of a 
country's landscapes and scenery from the window of a 
palace-car, but his vision goes no further — does not pen- 
etrate below the surface. To know a country one must 
fraternize with its people, must live with them, sympa- 
thize with them, w^in their confidence. 

High life in Europe has been paid sufficient attention 
by travellers and vrriters. I was desirous of seeing 
something of low life ; I donned the blouse and hob- 
nailed shoes of a Vv^orkman, and spent a year in a 
"Tramp Trip" from Gibraltar to the Bosporus. Some 
of my experiences have been related in letters to the 
New York World, the Philadelphia Press, the St. Louis 
HepiiUican, and other American newspapers, and in 
my official report to the United States Bureau of La- 
bor Statistics, Department of the Interior, Washing- 
ton, D. C, on the condition of the laboring classes in 
Europe. While the following pages contain some of 
those newspaper letters, the greater portion is now in 
print for the first time. 

The reader may possibly not care to make the exper- 
iment himself, yet the perusal of how another travelled 
on fifty cents a day may not prove altogether uninter- 
esting. 

Lee Meeiwether. 

St. Louis, September ^ 1886. 



CONTENTS- 



CHAPTER I. PAGE 

THE STEERAGE TO NAPLES 13 

CHxiPTER II. 
THE EOVELS OP NAPLES 21 

CHAPTER III. 

A NIGHT ON VESUVIUS, A NIGHT IN POMPEII, AND A NIGHT IN 
JAIL 25 

CHAPTER IV. 

THE CROOKED STREETS AND HANDSOME WOMEN OF CAPRI. .... 31 

CHAPTER y. 

RULES FOR TRAMP TOURISTS. — HOW TO LOOK FOR A FOUR- 
CENT ROOM, AND HOW TO LIVE ON TWENTY CENTS A DAY . . 42 

CHAPTER VI. 

A GALLERY OP SKULLS AND BONES. — IL SANTO BAMBINO. — A 
NEW ENGLAND LADY IN ST. PETER'S 49 

CHAPTER VII. 

ON THE TRAMP. — SCENES IN THE ROMAN CAMPAGNA.— IN SEARCH 
OP A WIFE.—AMONG THE PEASANTS AND PEOPLE , 5G 

CHxiPTER VIII. 

ITALIAN HIGH LIFE.— A CALL ON OUIDA. — TAKEN FOR A THIEF 
ON THE LEANING TOWER OF PISA 63 

CHAPTER IX. 

AN ADVENTURE IN FLORENCE 69 

1* 



10 CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER X. PAGE 

CURIOUS CARS. — THE ITALIAN RAILROAD SYSTEM.— A FUNERAL 
IN VENICE. —HOW GLASS EYES ARE MADE 78 

CHAPTER XI. 

THE STORY OP A RESTLESS TRAVELLER. — A PICKWICKIAN IN- 
CIDENT IN MILAN. — THE ROYAL FAMILY. — FAREWELL TO 
ITALY 90 

CHAPTER XII. 

ODD COMPANIONS. — AN ENTHUSIASTIC ITALIAN. — THE PROFES- 
SOR. —CLIMBING THE ALPS. — THE SIMPLON PASS.— AN ENG- 
LISH GIRL GIVES ME ALMS. — DIFFERENT SORTS OF TOURISTS : 
GERMAN, FRENCH, ENGLISH 98 

CHAPTER XIII. 

A TWO- CENT TRICK.— MUSICAL SURPRISES IN GENEVA. —BOGUS 
HISTORICAL RELICS. — ADVENTURES ON GLACIERS AND AVA- 
LANCHES. —PEASANT LIFE IN SWITZERLAND 109 

CHAPTER XIY. 

SCALING THE GRIMSEL PASS AT MIDNIGHT. — ECONOMY THAT 
LANDED US IN JAIL. — ARRESTED AS A DYNAMITER. — THE 
STORY OP A HAT. — GERMAN IDEAS OF ENGLISH. — SHUT UP 
WITH A LUNATIC. — A FLYING MENAGERIE IN BADEN-BADEN 120 

CHAPTER XV. 

AFOOT IN GERMANY.— POVERTY OP THE STUDENTS. —ADVENT- 
URES OF A DUTCHMAN.— THE BOOZY LOVER.— MARRIAGE AND 
FUNERAL CUSTOMS 132 

CHAPTER XYI. 

AMONG THE FACTORIES. — LIFE OF GERMAN MILL OPERATIVES. 
— HOW TO FORM A BEER ''KNEIPER." — THE DEAD-HOUSE OP 
MUNICH. — ANECDOTES OF BAVARIAN PEASANTRY. — THEIR 
SUPERSTITION 143 

CHAPTER XYII. 

IN A SALT-MINE. — TWO THOUSAND FEET UNDER THE EARTH. 
— TROUBLES OF A PEDESTRIAN IN AUSTRIA. — I PERFORM IN 
THE OPERA BEFORE AUSTRIA'S EMPEROR. — A GRATIFYING 
SUCCESS . , -. . 153 



CONTENTS. 11 

CHAPTER XVIII. PAQB 

DOWN THE DANUBE. — BIG WORDS IN HUNGARY. — ABSURD DRESS 
OF THE PEASANTS.— MUD AND MINERAL BATHS.— THROUGH 
BULGARIA ON FOOT.— OUT OF FUNDS.— LOOKING FOR WORK. 162 

CHAPTER XIX. 

THE STEERAGE TO CONSTANTINOPLE. — A TURKISH FLIRTATION. 
— SEARCH FOR CHEAP QUARTERS. — THE GREEK RESTAURANT. 
—A BILL OP FARE IN FOUR LANGUAGES. —HOW I SAW THE 
SULTAN AHMED MOSQUE FOR ONE HUNDRED PARA 175 

CHAPTER XX. 

SCENES IN STAMBOUL. — A TRIP TO ASIA MINOR. — THE HOWL- 
ING DERVISHES.— THEIR TERRIBLE RITES.— DINNER WITH A 
DAMASCUS SILK-MERCHANT. — CURIOUS CUSTOMS. — A MORMON 
MISSIONARY.— THE TURKS HARD TO CONYERT 188 

CHAPTER XXL 

THE BLACK SEA. — DIFFICULTY IN LEAVING TURKEY AND EN- 
TERING RUSSIA. — THE czar's METHOD OP BUILDING RAIL- 
ROADS : SIMPLE BUT INCONVENIENT. — PEASANTS AND PEO- 
PLE. — CONDITION OF THE WORKING-CLASSES 203 

CHAPTER XXII. 

THE ELIXIR OP RAPIDITY: STRANGE STORY OP A RUSSIAN NI- 
HILIST 212 

CHAPTER XXIII. 

m THE HEART OP RUSSIA.— HOW TAXES ARE COLLECTED.— THE 
PILGRIM CHURCH AND THE WONDERFUL PICTURE OP THE 
MOTHER OP GOD. — ARRESTED FOR WRITING IN MY NOTE-BOOK. 
—THE czar's PALACE.— MOSCOW AND ST. PETERSBURG 220 

CHAPTER XXIY. 

STRIKING FEATURES OF A STRONG GOVERNMENT. — WHY YOU 
CANNOT LOSE YOURSELF IN BERLIN. — CHEAP LIVING IN 
THE GERMAN CAPITAL. — THE TOMB OF FREDERICK. — IN THE 
REICHSTAG. — BISMARCK AND THE EMPEROR. — MUSICAL NOTES 231 

CHAPTER XXV. 

AMSTERDAM. — A LONG SERMON. — HONORS TO AN ACTRESS. — 
STORY OP A DUTCHMAN'S NOSE 238 



12 



CONTENTS. 



CHAPTER XXVI. page 

PEASANT LIFE IN BELGIUM. — CtJIlIOUS IDOL IN BRUSSELS. — 
ITALY REVISITED. — THE POTENTIALITY OF A FLANNEL SHIRT. 
— OLD FRIENDS AND BEGGARS IN NAPLES. — FLOUNDERING IN 
FRENCH. — WHY PARIS IS MAGNIFICENT. — THE THIRD NAPO- 
LEON. — PATRONIZING PARIS THEATRES TO AVOID BUYING 
FUEL.— -A FUSSY ENGLISHMAN 246 

CHAPTER XXVII. 

FACTORY LIFE IN ENGLAND.— THE SPINNERS AND WEAVERS OF 
HALIFAX. — TABLE OF WAGES AND PRICES. — TIMIDITY OF 
LONDONERS. — FRIGHTENED BY TIN CANS AND OVERCOATS. — 
VEGETARIAN RESTAURANTS. — HOW TO LIVE ON FOUR CENTS 
A DAY. — AT THE GRAVE OF GOLDSMITH.— WRETCHED CONDI- 
TION OF LONDON DOCKYARD LABORERS 255 

CHAPTER XXVIII. 

ENGLISH ENGINES AND ROADS.— A SOCIALIST MEETING IN LIV- 
ERPOOL. — ODD ARGUMENTS IN FAVOR OF TEMPERANCE AND 
IRISH HOME RULE. — HINTS TO PEDESTRIANS. — SUMMARY AND 
CONCLUSION OF " THE TRAMP TRIP " 265 

APPENDIX 271 

Comparative Tariff Table 274 

Comparative Wage Table 276 



A TRAMP TRIP: 

HOW TO SEE EUROPE ON FIFTY CENTS A DAY. 



CHAPTER I. 

THE STEERAGE TO NAPLES. 



Entering the office of the FIorio-Rubatino Steamship Line 
in New York one Saturday morning, I inquired the rate of 
passage to Naples. 

"One hundred and thirty dollars," replied the polite young 
man behind the desk. 

" Have you not a cheaper rate ?" 

" Second cabin, ninety dollars.'* 

"But your cheapest rate?" 

The young man looked at me. 

" You do not wish steerage, do you ?" 

"Certainly." 

" Phew !" and the polite young man whistled. " You are 
aware the steerage is no paradise ?" 

" At any rate I wish to learn for myself." 

" Very well. The cost is twenty-five dollars." 

A few moments later I received my ticket — a large piece of 
yellow paper, with the picture of a ship and a lot of Italian 
on it — and hurried to my hotel to complete preparations for 
the departure of the steamer, to take place that same day at 
noon. 

A half hour sufficed to divest myself of the modish raiment 



14 A TEAMP TRIP. 

wliich, taken in connection witli a steerage passage, bad so sur- 
prised tlie ticket-clerk, and in its place a slouch bat, a coarse 
flannel shirt, and a heavy sack-coat, warm and compact around 
the body, was substituted. A knapsack strapped over the back 
held all the baggage needed ; and thus equipped, with scarcely 
more impedimenta than a lady has in shopping, I sauntered 
down to the Wall Street ferry, crossed over to Brooklyn, and 
walked up the gangway of the Independente just as the last 
bells were ringing and the last good-bys were being said. 

What a scene was that on the wharf the last half hour before 
sailing! A crowd of men, women, and children, some stagger- 
ing under huge bundles of clothing and bedding that they were 
bringing on board ; others collecting skillets and pans and bun- 
dles tied in red handkerchiefs — all hurrying and skurrying 
around like a swarm of disturbed bees. 

Some of the passengers were men bearded like the pard, but 
this did not prevent their fellow-laborers, who had come to see 
them off, from giving them showers of kisses. One of the 
ship's scullions — a particularly grimy and greasy looking fel- 
low — stood on the wharf until the last moment, talking with a 
friend equally grimy and greasy. As the last bell rang, the 
scullion and his piratical-looking friend affectionately embraced, 
took a mouthful of farewell kisses, and the last I saw of them 
they were blowing kisses at each other across the water as the 
steamer slowly glided from her moorings and started on her 
long journey across the sea. 

The ticket-agent told the truth. The steerage of an Italian 
steamer is not a paradise. The bunks are in the hold in the 
forepart of the ship, in rows like shelves, one about three feet 
above the other. Lanterns hung from the ceiling give just 
enough light to make visible the rude beds and their dirty, 
picturesque occupants. Among the crowd of returning emi- 
grants I noted two young girls. Both were handsome — dark 
olive complexions, sparkling black eyes. Slumbering peace- 
fully, their arms thrown around under the head, supple figures 
in pretty postures, they seemed out of place in that semi-dark 



THE STEERAGE TO NAPLES. 15 

room, with the stalwart forms of men and women of every de- 
scription around them. They did not seem to mind it, but 
slept as calmly as if in a grotto of roses. Habit is wellnigh 
all-powerful. Accustomed to a private chamber, the first night 
or two in that strange place, those curious characters around 
me, ray eyes closed in sleep less than an hour. The third 
night an hour's pacing to and fro on deck before retiring over- 
came such squeamishness, and I slept soundly. 

A life on the ocean wave is, all things considered, rather mo- 
notonous. The first day out the sea-sick passenger groans and 
wails, and fears he will die. The next day he fears he won't 
die. After this he is all right, gets his sea legs on, and devel- 
ops an enormous appetite. Ki eight in the morning a big bell 
strikes, and a black-bearded Italian shouts, " Colazione !" which 
means breakfast of black coffee and bread. At one o'clock 
there are two bells, the black-bearded Italian cries " Pranzo !" 
and the emigrant is served with macaroni or potato stew, 
bread, and red wine. At night the Italian cries ''Cena" in- 
tead of " Pranzo," and there is more bread and black coffee. 
This regimen will certainly not produce gout or kindred ail- 
ments ; it is, however, as good as can be expected, considering 
that the three weeks' board and lodging, together with five 
thousand miles transportation, costs only twenty-five dollars. 

For the first few days after leaving New York we did not re- 
ceive any visits from the cabin — first-class passengers get sea- 
sick as well as immigrants. After about a week, though, we 
received a call from a Boston dude, who looked at the steerage 
in a very supercilious manner, probably with a view to enhance 
his importance with the young lady he was escorting. They 
had been studying an Italian phrase-book, and dosed every im- 
migrant they met with ** Come State," or *^Buon Giorno," or 
something else equally as original. Passing my bunk, as I lay 
studying an Italian grammar, the dude said to me in his bland- 
est manner, 

"Ah, my good fellow, parlate Inglese?" (Do you speak 
English?) 



16 A TRAMP TRIP. 

I gave him a blank stare, shrugged my shoulders, and re- 
plied, 

"Non parlo Inglese." (I do not speak English.) 

"What a peculiar -looking Italian," murmured the young 
lady. 

" Yes," responded the dude, " he speaks the southern patois. 
He comes from Sicily ;" and the Boston couple went on their 
way discussing " that peculiar Italian." 

On the night of the thirteenth day we entered the Strait of 
Gibraltar. The moon was shining brightly. Here and there 
flitted a sail across the water. The sombre coast of Africa lay 
a few miles to our right, on the left were the hills of Spain, 
and in front — miles in front — was the rock of Gibraltar, jutting 
abruptly fifteen hundred feet above the sea — a scene for a poet 
or a painter ! It was midnight before the vessel came to un- 
der the frowning English guns, and that enchanting scene gave 
way to bunks and dreams and sleep. Six o'clock next morning 
found us on our way for a stroll through the narrow lanes and 
crooked alleys of Gibraltar. The English soldiers, and their 
flaming coats and brimless caps that set perched on the back 
of their skulls, letting the nose burn red as fire ; the miles of 
galleries that honeycomb the prodigious rock ; the one-hun- 
dred-ton guns ; the Arabs with their blankets and naked legs 
and villanous faces — all were duly admired and stared at, and 
then at two in the afternoon, the steamer having taken on coal, 
the voyage into the Mediterranean was begun. 

Two days out from Gibraltar a little girl, the child of immi- 
grants returning to their home in sunny Italy, died. . They 
were poor, and there were other children, but the misery in 
that mother's face spoke to the dullest heart. The little thing 
was buried in the sea at eleven o'clock at night. The cere- 
mony was short and simple : a few words over the box by the 
captain, the steerage passengers standing by with solemn faces; 
the mate counts one — two — three, a splash in the water, and 
all is over. 

There was a man in St. Louis once — Professor Donaldson, 



THE STEERAGE TO NAPLES. 17 

the seronaut — who went up in a balloon and was never heard of 
afterwards. Ilis body was never found. The last seen of him 
was near the frontier of Canada, in his balloon, floating towards 
the icy regions of the north. With the exception of this mode 
of death, this floating off into space, severing absolutely every 
tie with mother-earth and leaving not even a corpse to tell the 
story— with this exception, a burial in the sea seems the most 
terrible, the most like annihilation. 

Mark Twain relates that when he walked into a Marseilles 
restaurant, and attempted to give his order in French, the waiter 
laughed at him and began to talk English. Since then every- 
body else who writes about a European trip gets up some- 
thing similar. This is all a joke. It reads well enough in a 
humorous book, but the American who believes it, and who 
goes to Marseilles expecting to talk English, will have to live 
on short rations. At the restaurants there are sio-ns like this: 



HERE ONE SPEAKS ENGLISH 



which means simply that when you go there "one" speaks 
English, and you are that one ; the rest speak French, and you 
must follow suit or not parlez at all. 

Queer things in Marseilles are the vehicles and horses. The 
horses have their tails cut off, and arc either extremely large or 
extremely small. One moment there passes a lady in a phaeton 
driving a pony the size of a large goat, the next moment a fel- 
low in a blue blouse comes along with a cart and a troop of 
horses almost as large as elephants. The cart or dray is an 
enormous affair, fully forty feet long, and drawn sometimes by 
eight or ten of these powerful horses, all tandem, and on each 
horse a lot of bells and a collar surmounted by a curved leather 
cone a foot or eighteen inches high. These processions look 
very picturesque and very absurd. 

After forty-eight hours in Marseilles, another two days' stop 



18 A TBAMP TRIP. 

was made in Genoa. The prison of St. Andrea, in that city, 
interested me. Thirty years ago there was confined within its 
gloomy walls a Philadelpliian, Henry Wikoff, or the " Chevalier 
Wikoff," as he was dubbed by the American press. The inci- 
dents leading to his incarceration in this Genoese prison form 
a peculiar and, at the same time, a ridiculous story. Wikoff, 
being left heir when a young man to a considerable property, 
set out on a jaunt with Forrest the actor. They bought a 
carriage and rode through Russia in the most romantic style, 
Forrest occasionally dropping into tragedy, and scaring the wits 
out of the simple natives. Finally they brought up in London, 
where Wikofi met a Miss Gamble. Fifteen years later, when 
again in London, this time a man of thirty-five or forty, he saw 
Miss Gamble, made her an offer of marriage, was accepted, and 
the day for the ceremony appointed. The day before the mar- 
riage was to have taken place, the expectant bridegroom re- 
ceived a note from his betrothed announcing her intention of 
going to Italy instead of getting married. Wikoff was astound- 
ed, and set out post-haste for Italy. At Genoa he overtook his 
runaway betrothed, and learning that she was to go to the 
English consul to have her passport vised^ he bribed her coach- 
man to drive to his hotel instead of to the consulate's. She 
went, was ushered into Wikoffs parlors, and was there con- 
fronted by her indignant lover with a demand for an explana- 
tion. Her surprise over. Miss Gamble coolly laughed, said it 
was only a caprice, and repledged herself to go through with 
the marriage. An hour later, leaving Wikoff's hotel, she lodged 
a complaint of abduction against him ; the unlucky Romeo was 
waltzed off to jail, and after a long trial and a narrow escape 
from a ten years' sentence to the galleys, was sentenced to fif- 
teen months in the prison of St. Andrea. In a curious and in- 
teresting book called " My Courtship and its Consequences," 
published in 1855, Wikoff gives an account of his extraordinary 
love affair. For fifteen months he endured the horrors of an 
Italian prison, augmented in 1854 by a small-pox epidemic 
among the prisoners. In the damp, stone-paved room where 



THE STEERAGE TO NAPLES. 19 

he spent those weary months is his name, which he scratched 
on the wall thirty years ago. This is the only relic of the af- 
fair left, for in the Sardinian war with Austria, in 1859, the 
registers and other books of the prison were destroyed. St. 
Andrea is in the heart of the city, and although on an eleva- 
tion, is surrounded by such tall buildings that the sunlight 
never enters the windows of its thick walls. 

A very striking feature in Genoa are the policemen — not 
striking with their clubs, but in their personal appearance. 
They look more like capitalists or retired bankers than police- 
men. They wear silk hats, their overcoats are cut in the latest 
Newmarket style, and the silver-headed walking-canes which 
they sport would do credit to Broadway millionaires. They 
are, physically, splendid-looking men, and present a sharp con- 
trast to the soldiers and gendarmes that lounge about Mar- 
seilles. The French some years ago were compelled to lower 
the standard of height in their array. A Frenchman in Mar- 
seilles six feet tall is a curiosity ; there are scarcely enough 
of them to whip a small company of Chinese. 

A few minutes before pulling out of Genoa there was a great 
bustle in the cabin. The waiters rushed backward and for- 
ward getting easy -chairs, arranging cushions, and spreading 
awnings. This commotion was on account of Baron Roths- 
child, of Vienna, who, with his wife, secretary, and a retinue of 
servants, was on his way to Sicih^, thence to Corfu and the 
Grecian Isles. The famous financier is a cadaverous -looking 
man, sallow and sickly. The baroness, his first cousin, also 
his wife, atones for the baron's lack of charms. She has a 
commanding presence, fine features and form, and a gracious, 
winning manner. 

As an offset to this increase to the cabin passenger list, a 
company of soldiers and a lot of convicts on their way to some 
island dungeon were taken into the steerage at Leghorn. They 
were heavily chained in couples, and again all together by one 
long chain fastened to their feet. Except at meal-times, when 
the right hand was freed, they remained in this miserable condi- 



20 A TRAMP TRIP. 

tion, unable to sleep themselves, and preventing others from 
sleeping by the horrible clanking of their fetters. 

The last week of the voyage in the Mediterranean passes 
like a dream. The vessel sails along the Spanish coast within 
full view of old Moorish castles and modern light -houses, 
passes near the Chateau d'lf, Monte Cristo's prison, on by 
Corsica and Elba, places of Napoleon's birth and exile, and at 
last, on the morning of the twenty-second day, glides into the 
beautiful bay of Naples. 



TUE HOVELS OF NAPLES. 21 



CHAPTER II. 

THE HOVELS OF NAPLES. 

Pedestrianism creates a tremendous appetite. I became 
aware of this fact about two hours after I had landed, and set 
out through the labyrinthian streets of Naples on a search for 
a lodging-place. Without waiting to la}^ aside my knapsack, 
I stepped into one of the numerous cheap eating-shops and 
ordered five cents' worth of the celebrated Neapolitan *' macca- 
roni al pompi d^oro,^^ that is, macaroni cooked with butter and 
tomatoes. 

It was about noon, and the damp, smoky room was filled 
with laborers and mechanics eating their mid-day meal. My 
costume and general appearance were quite in keeping with 
the cheapness and dinginess of the place, but not so, unfortu- 
nately, wdth my Italian. From my broken accent they at once 
knew I was a foreigner, and the jolly, good -hearted fellows 
stared at me with curiosity. "What was an " Inglese " (Eng- 
lishman — they do not discriminate between Englishmen and 
Americans) — ^^what was an Inglese doing in such a garb and in 
such a restaurant? What did I want? Where was I going? 
etc. My neighbor at the table, a little bolder or a little more 
inquisitive than the rest, put these questions, and I answered 
them, seemingly to his pleasure and satisfaction. 

"II signore non e Inglese ma Americano" (the signore is 
not English, but American), he said to his companions, **from 
the country, you know, whither Giuseppe went last year, and 
where, blessed be our Lady, he sells so much fruit and does so 
well — e vero — it is true that you come from that distant land T^ 

I assured him that I did, that in fact I had but just landed, 
and this seemed to heischtcn his interest and admiration. lie 



22 A TRAMP TRIP. 

was foreman-mason on a new building erecting in the neigh- 
borhood, and after finishing the macaroni I accepted his in- 
vitation to go to the building and look at his men working. 
It was interesting. Instead of having a ton of brick or stones 
shot up at once on a steam-elevator as an American would do, 
the stones w^ere brought up block by block on the backs of 
little boys. "When one block of stone is laid, the mason whis- 
tles, or meditates, or looks at the scenery while the boy is gone 
for another block. 

In Italian cities the higher up the room the higher the rent ; 
for the streets are very narrow, and only the upper floors re- 
ceive sunlight. My friend the foreman, who asked me to stop 
with him, had a large family, and he mentioned that fact by 
way of apology as he stopped before an open door in one of 
the narrow, crooked streets, and showed me that his room was 
on the ground-floor. "With his large family he was not able 
to rent a room higher up. 

In the centre of the room was a pan of smoking embers; 
near by sat a little girl knitting, and with her feet rocking a 
cradle. A dog in one corner was suckling a kid — the poor 
thing is not allow^ed to have its mother's milk, that being re- 
served for the family or sold in the market. A piece of salt 
pork was hanging from one of the rafters, and as we entered, 
the foreman's wife was on the point of cutting a slice to fry 
with the artichokes — a dish much relished by those who can 
afford it. 

*' II signore e un Americano," said the husband, smiling, and 
pointing to me, as if showing off a dime museum curiosity ; 
*' he comes from his country to find out what we have and how 
we live. He stays with us to-night." 

The wife bustled up to me with a " ben venuto [welcome], 
signore," the children crowded around to stare, and another 
slice of bacon was cut and two extra artichokes put in the pan. 
The foreman went out and returned with a bottle of wine, the 
little girl bought two pounds of macaroni with half a franc 
that I gave her, and in about an hour the family with their 



THE HOVELS OF NAPLES. 23 

guest sat down to as jolly a repast as could be found in all 
Italy. 

The Italian laborer usually retires early, but in honor of the 
visit of a " real live American " late hours were kept, the time 
being spent in discussing the customs of the country. 

\Yhat most strikes a stranger is the crowded condition of 
the masses. A whole family, consisting of parents and some- 
times ^ve to ten children, live in one room — a room stone paved, 
damp, and, even if looking on a street, surrounded by such high 
walls that the sunlight scarcely ever enters its portals. During 
the day, the beds that at night, perhaps, cover every inch of 
the floor, are rolled up and piled in one corner, leaving the 
bedroom to serve as a workshop for the father and the family. 

A marvellous degree of economy is practised even in the 
smallest details. Coffee-grounds from the wealthy man's kitch- 
en are dried and resold to the poor. In a similar way oil is 
twice and sometimes three times used, the drippings after each 
successive frying being gathered from the pan and sold to the 
poor. Old shoes, hats, clothes, candle-ends, dried coffee- 
grounds, " second-hand " oil, and a hundred other articles are 
spread out upon the broad stones of the Piazza, or square of a 
town, and it is here to a great extent that the Italian workman 
procures his supplies. A laborer's suit, consisting of breeches, 
jacket, vest, shirt, socks, necktie, and shoes, costs anywhere 
from $4.45 up. His food is as simple as his clothing and his 
habitation. In the morning a great loaf of black bread is 
passed around ; each member of the family gouges out a piece 
of the inside, until finally only the hard crust is left. At noon 
this crust is eaten, softened by a little wine. A plate of mac- 
aroni costing two or three cents finishes the bill of fare. At 
night more macaroni, then the beds or pallets are spread and 
the family goes to sleep, to get up and go through the same 
routine on the morrow. 

The rent of one of these rooms is from ten to twelve dollars 
per year ; the cost of the macaroni, wine, and bread is about ten 
cents per day for each person ; but even at this cheap rate of 



24 A TRAMP TRIP. 



n 



living the workman who has a family often finds it difficult to 
make both ends meet. A skilled bricklayer averages only two 
lire and a half (fifty cents) a day. :T:'^'':r-''''''***>»^^,_, 

All this and much more my host told me, and then unrolling 
a straw mattress on the floor, we said good-night and retired. 
The next morning, as we had all slept in one room together, 
so we jumped into our clothes together. The foreman's wife 
and eldest daughter, a comely lass of thirteen or fourteen, did 
not have much toilet to make, simply slipping their light-col- 
ored gowns over their heads and lacing the corset they wear 
around the waist, on the outside of the dress ; this little they 
did without mindhig in the slightest the presence of a mascu- 
line stranger. 

Nothing is so apt to confirm our belief in republican insti- 
tutions as a view, first of the palaces, then of the hovels, of 
Italy. The king's palace in Naples is magnificent ; its art col- 
lections and decorations and furnishings are the finest that hu- 
man ingenuity and skill can provide ; but as I walked through 
its gilded saloons and softly carpeted galleries, I could not help 
thinking of the hovel of my friend the foreman. "What pri- 
vations and squalor do the masses endure that kings and nobles 
may revel in ease and luxury. 



ON VESUVIUS, IN POMPEII, AND IN JAIL. 



CHAPTER HI. 

A NIGHT ON VESUVIUS, A NIGHT IN POMPEII, AND A NIGHT IN JAIL. 

The Bay of Naples forms a crescent. Naples is at one 
horn, at the other, nine miles to the south, is Mount Vesuvius. 

The ascent of the mountain is very ea-sy if one have a pocket- 
ful of money. For five dollars a carriage takes the traveller to 
the inclined railway-station, seven miles from Naples ; for an- 
other five dollars the railroad takes him to the summit of the 
old cone ; he is then passed on to guides and " strap-bearers " 
and " chair-carriers " and " stick-renters," and so forth, and so 
on, who carry him to the crater without the slightest personal 
inconvenience. The stick -renter charges for the use of his 
stick, the strap -bearer for his strap, the chair -carrier for his 
muscle and chair, and altogether, one hundred and sixty lire 
will hardly more than cover the trip. With such figures how 
is a poor man to ascend Vesuvius ? 

The problem was a difficult one, but I attempted its solu- 
tion. Relieving my knapsack early one morning of its few 
changes of underclothing, its one or two books, and the pads of 
writing-paper that constitute a pedestrian's outfit, I substituted 
a bottle of wine, several pones of bread, some cheese and figs, 
and accompanied by a chance travelling companion picked up 
in Naples, set out on foot for the famous volcano. 

For six miles the way lies along the bay, on easy, level 
ground; then a gradual ascent begins, and after another six 
miles the tourist finds himself at the foot of the cone, three 
thousand feet above his starting-point. After the village of 
Resina is passed, all vegetation is left behind, and the tramp is 
through a vast field of lava, the picture of barrenness and des- 
olation — no verdure, no fertility, not even a twig, only lava 



26 A TKAMP TRIP. 

and ashes, a forerunner of the cone whicli still remains to be 
scaled, a steep mountain of soft ashes. 

It rises at an angle of thirty degrees — it seems ninety. The 
ashes, soft and penetrating, permeate the clothing, get down 
the boot-legs, are blown in the face, ears, and eyes. Hour 
after hour I toiled up that steep ascent, sinking to my knees in 
the loose ashes, taking two steps up and sliding down one, un- 
til I began to think that our task of climbing Vesuvius greater 
than Hercules's twelve labors combined. AVhen about half the 
way up we entered a rain-storm, and for the rest of the jour- 
ney were enveloped in mist and cloud. By the time we had 
achieved the summit night had set in, and the rain had given 
place to snow. I was cold and miserable. After all this effort 
and fatigue was there to be no view? no glimpse at the crater? 
I determined to investigate the possibility of getting quarters 
for the night with the man who stays in the little shanty built 
at the base of the crater, attending the upper end of the rail- 
road. 

"Do you sleep here?" I inquired. 

"Yes," answered the man, after a pause; "but why do you 
ask?" 

" Oh, nothing, only I was thinking it must be rather lonely. 
I will stay with you to-night, though, if you like. I am in no 
hurry to return to town before to-morrow." 

A younger bird might have been caught by such chaff. 
Tliis Italian, however, had been too long in the business. 

"Young fellow," he said, "if you want to stay up here you 
can, but not until you have paid me ten lire." 

Ten lire — two dollars! I saw at once that he mistook me 
for a duke, and to undeceive him I offered " una mezza lira " — 
ten cents — for his accommodations. There was considerable 
haggling; I was compelled to raise on my ten cent offer, but 
the Italian came down from his two dollar demand, and at last 
we struck a compromise on one lira — twenty cents. Immedi- 
ately on striking this bargain I spread on the floor the quilt 
which my host gave me, and after leaving directions to be 



ON VESUVIUS, IN POMPEII, AND IN JAIL. 27 

called in case the storiii should abate, lay down for a little rest 
and sleep. It was midnight before I was awakened from my 
dreams. The Italian was tapping me on the shoulder. 

" Wake, signore ; the snow stopped, you get fine view. You 
go to crater, you see lava and fire." 

It was a starless night, inky black, our hands scarcely visible 
before our faces, but there was no difficulty in finding the way. 
The roaring and rumbling of the volcano, and the lurid glare 
that shot forth every few seconds from the summit, beckoned 
on far better than any guide. When at last the brink of the 
crater was reached, its working was visible to perfection. 

The thousands who use the simile, " standing over a volcano," 
can never appreciate its full meaning unless they have actually 
stood over a volcano as we stood that dark night, looking down 
into the huge caldron of boiling lava, watching the fiery 
mass as it seethed and steamed and came hissing through the 
fissures in the mountain's sides. Until far in the night Ave 
watched that terrible sight, and listened to the rumbling and 
roaring that seemed to come from the very bowels of the earth. 
The scene, standing at midnight on that volcanic peak, a world 
of blackness around us, was awe-inspiring. I took no note of 
time, and was only called to myself by an event that nearly 
proved my quietus. While gazing into the fiery sea of lava, 
there was a terrific rumbling, followed by a shower of red-hot 
stones which flew in every direction, missing us, as it seemed, 
only by a miracle. The second eruption followed after an in- 
terval of less than a minute, but even in that short time we had 
descended, rolling and leaping, at least three hundred feet down 
the side of the cone. The situation was big with danger. On 
the one side was an impenetrable mist ; a mountain of fire was 
on the other. The eruptions continued, and the sky was still 
illumined by the showers of burning stones, some of which 
fell dangerously near. My companion was struck on the arm 
by one of the smaller missiles — perhaps one of the smallest — 
and although not seriously injured, received a very bad burn. 

Even when out of reach of the fiery hail our course was by 



28 A TRAMP TEIP. 



1 



no means easy. The whole summit of Yesuvius is composed 
of recent eruptions of lava, much of it scarcely cooled. To 
pick a way across this at mid-day is no easy matter ; at mid- 
night, covered by clouds, the chances of stepping on a place 
not sufficiently hardened, and of breaking through into some 
sulphurous pit, are dangerously great. It was not until after 
an hour's slow and painful walking that we found our way 
back to the low room and sank exhausted upon the floor. 

The Italian government has taken possession of the exca- 
vated city of Pompeii. A law recently enacted strictly for- 
bids strangers entering or remaining after sunset. I was 
anxious to see the ruins by moonlight, and resolved to spend 
a night in that resurrected city of the Romans, the law to the 
contrary notwithstanding. The preceding night had been 
spent on Mount Vesuvius, and early in the morning I arose 
from my lofty couch and descended the side of the mountain 
towards Pompeii along the same route that the lava and ashes 
took eighteen hundred years ago, when the unfortunate city 
was buried. The earth excavated from Pompeii has been 
thrown around the city, making a wall twenty or twenty-five 
feet high. The only entrance is through a gate with a re- 
volving stile, where the visitor pays forty cents admission. 

Pompeii is a wonderful place. The old inhabitants, subjects 
of the Emperor Titus, are still there — there in glass cases, in 
the very postures in which they died eighteen centuries ago. 
In the court-yard of one house is still standing a pedestal bear- 
ing a bust of the owner of the house — Cornelius Rufus. It 
has been there two thousand years, and is as good as new ex- 
cept for a little piece of the nose which has been chipped off. 
Even with this defective nose one can see what manner of man 
Cornelius was — a rather handsome fellow, with benevolent as- 
pect. I dare say, when he came in in a hurry, he used often 
to throw his toga or hat over this very bust. 

Towards set of sun, worn out with wandering among the 
curious ruins and relics of the dead past, I sought a place 
wherein to rest and wait the rising of the moon. In the Tem- 



ON VESUVIUS, IN POMPEII, AND IN JAIL. 29 

pie of Isis still stands tlie altar where tlie Pompeiian priests 
once delivered oracles to the credulous people. The statue 
head, whence issued the oracles, stands now, as it then stood, 
on a pedestal, under which the cunning priests had hidden 
themselves. Into this silent and secret place I crawled, re- 
freshed myself with a luncheon from my knapsack, and lay 
down to rest. The descent from Vesuvius and the day's sight- 
seeing proved too much for me. I sank into a sleep, not 
deep, but disturbed by dreams of things long dead and gone. 
I saw old pagan priests talking through the sculptured head 
to humbug the ignorant worshippers. I saw the gaping crowd 
of women and men, with faces of awe and reverence, receiving 
the lying oracles ; then suddenly, as it seemed, a man of grave 
and reverend aspect, with long, flowing beard and long hair, 
confronted the deceiving priests, and with commanding gest- 
ures ordered them away and overturned the oracle head, which 
fell with a crash amid the pagans' cries and shouts. 

I started up wildly, so vivid was the scene. I found myself 
in darkness, the sound of rough voices w^ere shouting near by ; 
I could not at first realize where I was. 

" Ahime — diavolo — lui e qui!" (The d — 1, here he is!), 
shouted the rough voices. Then a man with a lantern poked 
his head into the place and threw a sudden light upon me. I 
was blinded and dazed. The man beo-an talkino; Italian at me 
so rapidly that I became still more bewildered. Was I dead 
and in Hades? The brigandish-looking fellow with the lan- 
tern seized me fiercely, jerked me up and out of my hiding- 
place, and dragged me along to the gate of the city. Once 
in the open air, my dazed senses cleared and I began to take 
in the situation. A fierce-looking fellow with a bristling mus- 
tache and showy uniform went through my pockets and knap- 
sack, and then I w^as escorted down the high-road to Portici, a 
village about seven miles distant, in the direction of Naples. 
There I was lodged in jail, and the next morning brought be- 
fore an officer of justice, charged with the heinous crime of 
sleeping in the dead city of Pompeii. Putting on an innocent 



30 A TEAMP TRIP. 



air, I said in my best Italian that my intentions were not fe- 
lonious, that I had taken nothing, that I had fallen asleep from 
over-fatigue — Vesuvius, sight-seeing, and all that ; and finally, 
as no purloined relics were found upon me, I was let oflE with 
a reprimand, and a warning not to do so again. 

I discovered on a second visit that the stile through which 
the visitor enters Pompeii registers each person passing in. 
At sunset another stile registers the exits ; exits and entrances 
must tally. On this eventful eve they did not tally, and so the 
silent streets and houses of the dead were searched with the 
result described. 



n 




CEOOKED STKEETS AND HANDSOME WOMEN OF CAPRI. 31 



CHAPTER IV. 

THE CROOKED STREETS AND HANDSOME WOMEN OF CAPRI, \ 

The little island of Capri is noted for its women, who possess \ 
a peculiar kind of beauty. They are as straight as arrows, 
have regular features, magnificent eyes, perfect teeth, dark, olive 
complexions, and straight, coal-black hair. Not a few English 
artists who go to Capri to paint, end by marrying their models 
and settling on the island for life. An American artist has 
been there twenty years. lie has a wife and grown children 
who do not speak a w^ord of English. I asked an artist who 
had been on the island only a few months, whether or not such 
marriages proved happy. 

"As happy as any marriages," was the reply. "The artist 
comes with the intention of painting a few views and leaving 
with the summer. But there are so many views, and his model 
is so lovely, he concludes to finish out the year. By that time 
he has become enervated by the soft climate ; he is no longer 
the pushing, energetic man of the North. Ilis ambition has 
abated, he is content to paint just enough for a living. His 
sketches find a ready sale in London, he settles down, marries 
his model, and forgets, and is forgotten by, the world. There 
have been a dozen such cases, and will probably be a dozen 
more." 

"Arc you not afraid of drifting into it yourself?" 

"I may — who knows? I have been here three months. I 
already feel myself weakening." 

" Why do you stay, then ?" 

" Well, the views are fine — and the women." 

A year afterwards I learned that he had married his model 
and settled in Capri for life. 



32 A TRAMP TRIP. 

The rocks of Capri jut abruptly from the sea to a height of 
two thousand feet. On one of these cliffs is still standing the 
villa and grotto where Tiberius performed those inhuman and 
atrocious deeds that startled the Eoman world and live to this 
day in the pages of Tacitus. From this very rock the despot 
caused his victims to be cast one thousand nine hundred feet 
into the sea, where their dead bodies were mangled by the boat- 
men stationed there for that purpose. The salons that once 
witnessed the orgies of the Eoman monster are now used as 
cow stables, only one room being left for human habitation — 
that on the extreme summit, occupied by a solitary hermit, a 
kindly-faced, simple-hearted man who spends the greater part 
of his life before an altar in the room where, perhaps, were wor- 
shipped in olden times the heathen gods of Rome. From the 
hermit's cell a charming view is obtained, not only of the whole 
island of Capri, but of the Ponza Islands, of Surrentum, of Na- 
ples, and of Vesuvius, smoking in the distance, seven or eight 
miles away. 

As I stood watching the famous old volcano, the hermit en- 
tertained me with an account of the great eruption of 1872, 
which he had witnessed from his cell. 

" The flames shot up for three days and nights," he said. 
" The rumbling and roaring was awful. A fiery stream of lava 
poured down the mountain. I fell on my knees and prayed 
for the safety of those below." 

The good man's prayers were not altogether effectual ; some 
forty persons \vere overtaken by the river of fiery lava and suf- 
fered a cruel death. 

Looking down on Capri from this villa of Tiberius, the island 
presents the appearance of a vast natural amphitheatre. The 
steep mountain sides have been terraced, and every inch is un- 
der cultivation. These terraces are ten, fifteen, and twenty feet 
high, but from the lofty altitude of Tiberius's villa they seem 
scarcely a foot in height, and give one the idea of a great cir- 
cular stair-way carpeted in green, leading from the bay to the 
top of the mountain. It is only when you descend, and are 



CROOKED STIIEETS AND HANDSOME WOMEN OF CAPRI. 33 

compelled to follow a stony, winding path, that you realize how 
high those terraces really are. In coming down I tried to use 
them as steps, but after scrambling over the wall of one of the 
lowest, and nearly breaking my neck, I was glad to get back to 
the winding path again. 

In Capri, streets of ten feet width are considered wide. The 
usual width is about five feet. Both sides are walled up in the 
town by high houses, and in the country by high garden walls. 
Strolling through these narrow lanes made between the tall 
houses, you catch glimpses here and there of peasant life, of the 
women as they sit in their door -ways spinning, weaving, or 
combing the children's heads, and of the men as they puff their 
pipes, or lie sprawling on the ground snoring and sleeping the 
sleep of the lazy. 

The streets are as steep as they are narrow ; they form so 
many troughs down which, even with an ordinary rain, the wa- 
ter rushes in torrents. I was caught one afternoon in the up- 
per part of the town by a sharp rain, and in a few minutes the 
road leading to my hotel, about a quarter of a mile off in a 
part of the town five hundred feet lower down, was converted 
into a rapid stream that would have run a good- sized mill. 
For an hour I waited hoping the rain would cease ; it did not, 
and I at length accepted the offer of a stalwart fellow to carry 
me down on his back. I was thus brought into the hotel like 
a bag of potatoes or turnips. I weigh a full hundred and fifty 
pounds, but that is no load for the stalwart men of Capri, ac- 
customed all their lives to hills and precipitous rocks. 

Women carry on their heads one-hundred-pound sacks of 
flour, and with this burden can skip up the path from the sea 
to the Piazza — an elevation of six hundred feet — with as much 
rapidity as can a stranger with no encumbrances at all other 
than his own weight and clothing. I have seen numbers of 
young girls in the western part of the island climbing up what 
seemed almost perpendicular bluffs with great stacks of grass 
on their heads. They cut this grass at the foot and at the sides 

of the mountain, and carry it up for their goats and cows. A 

2# 



34 A TRAMP TRIP. 

goat gives a quart of milk a day which sells for four cents. To 
cut grass for only half a dozen goats is a hard day's work. It 
is plain, therefore, the Capri peasants cannot often become rich. 
Fortunately, living is cheap. The peasant builds his hut for 
himself out of loose stones ; thus lodging he gets gratis. His 
black bread, macaroni, and occasional portion of cheese or pork, 
costs on an average eight cents a day. 

One of the delights of Capri is its comparative freedom from 
tourists and beggars. Of the two it is hard to say which are 
the greater pests. The beggars you can get rid of, but the 
tourist is always there, opera-glass strapped over his shoulder 
and red-covered Baedeker^' in hand. In my laborer's garb I 
was more than once mistaken for an Italian by the opera-glass, 
red-book people. One day on the Via Roma, in Naples, a man 
with a guide-book in his hand stopped me and addressed me in 
a peculiar kind of Italian that he had doubtless himself in- 
vented. He said, " Sono io sulla via alk stazione ?" 

I saw at once that he was English, that he did not under- 
stand ten words of Italian. 

" Una, due, tre, quattro " (one, two, three, four), I began, 
rapidly counting in Italian. 

** The d — 1 !" exclaimed the tourist, ^' what is this thick- 
headed fellow talking about? Stazione, signore, stazione— I 
want to go to the stazione." 

"Cinque, sei, sette, otto" (five, six, seven, eight), I con- 
tinued, and the Englishman, thinking I was complying with his 
request to direct him to the railway-station, got out a diction- 
ary and asked me to speak more slowly. I said, " Wouldn't it 
be better to talk English ?" 

The man with the Baedeker and opera-glass wilted. 

One day in Pompeii I saw a Dutchman standing out in the 
rain, an umbrella in one hand, the ever-present Baedeker in the 
other. For every glance he gave the ruins he gave two to his 
guide-book. 

* A guide-book. 



CROOKED STREETS AND HANDSOME WOMEN OF CAPRI. 35 

In Capri there is nothing of this. The light-hearted pedes- 
trian can wander from one end of that little island to the other 
and see not a single beggar nor a single iinpieturesque, land- 
scape-marring, guide-book tourist. 

During my stay in Naples I was not an early riser. A day's 
sight-seeing in that crooked place is not a little fatiguing, and 
one can easily lie abed mornings until eight or nine o'clock. 
On one particuhir Monday morning, however, five o'clock found 
me up and dressed, and on my way to the northern gate of the 
city, which leads into the Appian Way and to Rome. As I 
reached the gate the sun w^as just peeping above the hills that 
lie a few miles back of the city ; the green gardens glistened 
with dew; all nature was bright with- beauty and verdure. 

I was told an acre of this land rents for thirty dollars a year. 
For an artist the scenery is worth a hundred times that sum ; 
but it is not easy to see how the peasants, even with their thrift 
and economy, are able to clear thirty dollars net every year on 
each acre of ground. It is true their climate enables them to 
make two, and sometimes even three crops where we make only 
one ; they, moreover, utilize every inch. I have seen peasants 
carrying earth in sacks to put on rocks and make fertile what 
before was barren. At distances of twenty-five or thirty feet 
trees are planted. The limbs of the trees serve as fuel, the 
trunks are used as supports for the grape-vines. These vines 
run on wires, ten or fifteen feet above the ground, from tree to 
tree. On the earth underneath is grown a crop of funnochio,* 
or asparagus, or berries. But with all this — with this double 
crop — one on terra firma, one in the air — thirty dollars still 
seems a high rent per year for an acre of ground. 

Ordinarily it should not require more than eight days to 
walk from Naples to Rome. I would have made it in that 
time but for an adventure that befell me on the sixth day out 
from Naples. 

It was about three o'clock one afternoon, in the heat of the 

"^ A kind of coarse celery. 



86 A TRAMP TRIP. 

day. I had stopped under a tree on the roadside to rest and 
await the cool of the evening before continuing my journey. 
The heat, as also the fatigue of the long walk, produced a 
drowsy effect. Without further ceremony I whipped out my 
sleeping-bag, crawled into it, and drawing the mouth close 
around my neck, I laid my head on my knapsack and was soon 
fast asleep. My slumbers, however, were not to be undisturbed. 
I had slept hardly half an hour when there ^vas a tugging at 
the bag, and I felt my feet seized by a stout hand and lifted 
from the ground. 

"What in the mischief do you want?'^ I yelled in English, 
foro'ettino; for the moment that I was in a foreio-n land. 

There was a. loud laugh, and my feet dropped to the earth 
again. 

" Ah, un' uomo — it is then a man, not a devil," said a big, 
jolly-looking fellow, who did not seem to think it at all impu- 
dent to disturb one's sle^p. He stood off a few paces, arms 
akimbo, grinning and staring at me. 

" No, I am not a devil," I said, crawling out of my bag, "but 
it is enough to make one as mad as the devil, jerking one's an- 
kles in that manner." 

" No offence, signore," grinning and bowing, " no offence. I 
was just a bit curious ; I couldn't make out what you were ; I 
picked you up to sec. Lei dorme in questo — you sleep in 
this?" 

"Yes," I replied, recovering my temper — his good-nature 
was infectious — " I sleep in this bag to keep out the ants and 
bugs. But what are you doing here? Where are you going?" 

It was on one of the loneliest parts of the Appian Way, near 
the beginning of the Pontine Marshes, where for a stretch of 
many miles there is not a single town or inn. The Italian's 
jolly face sobered. He hesitated before answering. 

" Going ?" he repeated ; " oh, si, capisco — yes, signore, I am 
going to Tuscany. And you ?" 

"To Rome." ' 

By this time I had folded my bag and put it in the knap- 



CROOKED STREETS AND HANDSOME WOMEN OF CAPRI.. 37 

sack, and we started off together. He was a sociable fellow. 
With the little English he happened to know (he said he had 
been a sailor and touched in English ports) and the bad Italian 
of which I was master, we managed nicely. I told the usual 
yarns foreigners like to hear about America — the large sums 
laborers receive, the wonderful size of the country, the four 
thousand miles of land between Maine and California; then the 
conversation came down to Italy and the Appian Way, and the 
business that brought me, solitary and alone, on that now un- 
frequented road. 

"You no afraid of brigands?" he asked, in his broken 
English. 

"Brigands? Of course not; th^re is no more of that sort 
of thing in Italy, is there ?" 

"I not know, but may be. Where you stay to-night ?" 

I had not thought about that. The Appian Way, where it 
runs through the Pontine Marshes, is very beautiful ; the 
branches of a long line of tall trees planted on each side meet 
overhead and form a delightfully shaded arch ; but there are no 
villages, no inns. To go back to the last town to sleep was 
out of the question. 

" What are you going to do ?" 

"Ah, I show you. Come with me; I take you nice place.'' 

I agreed, and we tramped forvv'ard. For several miles w^e 
continued on the main road, then, suddenly stopping short and 
looking up and down the Way, the Italian, with a brief gesture 
to follow, struck off rapidly through the forest. In ten minutes 
he had so wound around, and traced and retraced his course, 
that I was completely lost. To my question as to w^iither he 
was leading me, he only gave grins and grunts, and strode rapid- 
ly on. I had come so far, had lost myself, that there remained 
no choice but to follow him to the end. After two hours' 
tramping up and down through the trees and lowlands of the 
Marshes, he suddenly stopped, and turning around, said, abruptly, 

" Signore, ho perduta lar strada. — I am lost. I cannot find 
the way. We sleep here." 



38 A TRAMP TRIP. 

I was greatly disgusted, and a little alarmed. Was I not 
trusting too mucli to my dusty and travel-stained appearance? 
What if the fellow, despite my travelling on foot and my 
shabby looks, should imagine I had money? The loneliness 
of the place — almost in the centre of the Pontine Marshes, sev- 
eral miles from the road — gave me some uneasiness. I endeav- 
ored to console myself by looking at the Italian's jolly, good- 
natured face. 

"At any rate," I thought, "there is no help for it now. I 
must make the best of it." 

So, spreading my rubber coat on the ground, and getting 
into my bag, I lay down and endeavored to dispel thoughts of 
malaria, robbers, and brigands by dreams of home and loved 
faces thousands of miles across the sea, in far-off America. 
Thus musing, with an occasional word of reassurance from my 
companion, who had wrapped himself in his cloak and was 
lying a few yards away, I fell into a doze, and finally into a 
sound sleep. 

I do not know how long I slept — perhaps only an hour, 
perhaps it may have been four or five hours — but it was still 
pitch dark when I heard voices and tramping of feet, and awoke 
to find a file of soldiers around me. My companion of the 
evening before was nowhere to be seen. The officer in com- 
mand of the gendarmes spoke to me very rapidly, in a dialect I 
but imperfectly understood. I made no reply, whereupon two 
of the soldiers stepped to my side and took each an arm. Two 
others went in front as avant couriers ; the rest followed in 
the rear. 

Since the affair in the Portici jail, my taste for adventure in 
strange lands had given place to practical ideas of common- 
sense. I was deeply disgusted as I was marched along in the 
middle of the night by those soldiers, who could not explain 
whether they wanted to shoot or to hang me. We reached 
the Appian Way in about three-quarters of an hour. It was 
daybreak before a halt -was called. • To my vexation and dis- 
gust, I found I was in the very town I had left the preceding 



CROOKED STREETS AND HANDSOME WOMEN OF CArRI. 39 

afternoon on beginning the journey tlirougli the Pontine Marsh- 
es. I was taken to the station, kept waiting an hour, and tlien 
conducted into a room where a very sour-looking individual 
scanned my face critically, and compared it Avith some photo- 
graphs he held in his hand. The result was apparently not 
satisfactory. He frowned, handed the photographs to another 
official, pointed at me, and shook his head. The result of all 
which was, they gave me a breakfast and told me to go, which 
I was not slow in doing. 

Later in the day I learned how the adventure came about. 
That jolly, good-natured Italian was no other than Luigi Cor- 
donna, a brigand for whom the government had been looking 
for six or eight weeks. Two months before he had robbed a 
farmer in Sicily, near Messina, and then fled as far as Capua on 
the Via Appia. As I have related, he came near being nabbed 
in the Pontine Marshes. Getting me to sleep in that out-of-the- 
way place was an excellent scheme to throw suspicion on me 
and give him time to escape. It was doubtless my dilapidated 
appearance that saved me from his nimble fingers. 

Having enough of the Appian Way, at least of that portion 
in the Pontine Marshes, I decided to finish the journey by rail. 
There was a station twelve miles across the country. I was 
fortunate enough to arrive there in time for the afternoon 
train. This time there were no brigands or gendarmes to de- 
lay the journey. I arrived in the Eternal City safe and sound.* 

* In France the following winter a case occurred which would seem to 
mdicate that to travellers leaving the beaten route such experiences as 
mine at Portici and on the Appian Way are by no means so uncommon as 
may be supposed. Mr. Stanley J. Weyman, a London barrister, was 
making a tour with his brother among the Pyrenees. On the way from 
Oloron to Pardeto they occupied an interior seat in the diligence, in the 
company of a sub-official of gendarmes. The officer chatted pleasantly 
with his fellow-travellers until Aramitz, a village seven miles from Oloron, 
was reached; there he suddenly dropped the role of fellow-passenger 
donned his official dignity, and demanded the Englishmen's names and 
papers of identity. Mr. Weyman in his report says : 

" Notwithstanding we at once gave our names, and that I on my part 



40 A TRAMP TRIP. 

handed to him a passport issued by the Foreign Office, London, as well as 
a banker's letter of recommendation, he arrested us. It was in vain that 
I showed him we carried a considerable sum of money, and had besides a 
receipt for a large quantity of luggage then on its way to Biarritz; in 
vain, also, that we repeatedly stated to him we were British subjects. 
After being allowed to send a telegram to the vice-consul at Pau, w^e were 
taken — it being then 6 p.m. — to two cells which formed a wretched out-house 
adjoining the gendarmerie. These cells were mean in the extreme, with 
dirty, rough-cast walls, a stone floor, and no windows, but merely an un- 
glazed aperture above the door. They were such places as would scarcely 
be used in England for dogs. Nevertheless, in these two cells we were 
severally locked up for thirteen hours (during which the doors were not 
opened), without light, fire, or any warming apparatus. It was freezing 
cold, and the night air entered by many apertures beside the large one over 
the door. Our knapsacks, as well as money, watches, and papers, having 
been taken from us, I had no protection against the excessive cold except 
two thin and frowsy coverings which formed the bedclothes. I suffered 
so greatly that I was compelled to spend the last three or four hours be- 
fore daybreak in walking up and down the cell. During the whole night 
I was not able to obtain ten minutes' sleep. My brother, although he was 
in some degree protected by a railway rug, of which he had not been de- 
prived, also suffered greatly from cold. We had offered to pay for ac- 
commodation at the hotel, but that was refused. Soon after 8 a.m. on 
the 15th (December, 1885), a telegram vouching for our respectability 
was received from the vice-consul at Pau, Mr. Musgrave Clay. Unfort- 
unately, I then stated to the officer who had originally arrested us that 
we intended to complain of his conduct ; he forthwith took us back to one 
of the cells, in which we again remained locked up for three hours. 
About noon we were permitted to eat some lunch outside in the sun. 

" Between 1 and 2 p.m. we were taken on foot to Oloron, and during 
the greater part of the journey had to carry our baggage, the gendarmes 
threatening that if we did not do so they would handcuff us, and compel 
us to perform the journey in that fashion. This threat they enforced 
by preparing the chains and handcuffs. They had before in our presence 
ostentatiously loaded their revolvers. In this way we were conducted, a 
gendarme on either side of us, through several villages and a great part 
of the town of Oloron, in the presence of some hundreds of people. 

*' At Oloron we were charged before the Procureur with being without 
the necessary papers of identit}^, and as lying under the suspicion of being 
German spies. The Procureur, at sight of the vice-consul's telegram and 
our own papers, liberated us, but refused to grant us redress on the ground 
that neither my passport (not being vised for France) nor my banker's 
letter (being printed instead of written) were sufficient evidence of identity 



CROOKED STREETS AND HANDSOME WOMEN OF CAPRI. 41 

to fulfil the law. We were released at ten minutes to 6 p.m., after being 
twenty-five hours in custody, nine of which were subsequent to the receipt 
of the yice-consuPs telegram." 

The London Times^ in its issues for December 21 and 22, 1885, contains 
all the details connected with this case, together with lengthy editorial 
comments. 



42 A TRAMP TRIP. 



CHAPTER V. 

RULES FOR TRAMP TOURISTS. — HOW TO LOOK FOR A FOUR-CENT 
ROOM, AND HOW TO LIVE ON TWENTY CENTS A DAY. 

From my note-book I copy the following Rules for Tramp 
Tourists : 

First : Look as shabby as possible. 

I met one day among the rains of Pompeii five Danes, stu- 
dents, men of educated families. They said they had not been 
approached by a single commissionaire since the day they 
had left Copenhagen. Why ? Because they looked shabby. 
They had walked all the way from the northern frontier of 
Germany, and were as tough a looking set as one could im- 
agine. Worn boots, tattered garments, uncut hair, huge clubs 
in their hands — no wonder guides and hotel -runners avoided 
them. They were on their way to Palermo, Sicily, whence 
they intended returning home by steamer through the Medi- 
terranean, the Strait of Gibraltar, and the North Sea. 

Second : No matter whether or not you speak the language, 
to commissionaires, guides, cabmen, etc., feign absolute igno- 
rance. It is the only method of ridding yourself of their 
importunities. Sometimes I put my finger to my ear and in- 
timated bv sio:ns that I w^as deaf and dumb — it insured asjainst 
further annoyance. 

Third: If English or English-speaking, never let the fact be 
known. If possible pass for a German. German students 
have the very pleasant reputation of being extremely impecu- 
nious, If lucky enough to be taken for a German, you may be 
sure of bottom-rock prices. Englishmen, on the other hand, 
have the reputation of being rich, and given to all kinds of 
absurd freaks. You may dress in rags, and walk yourself into 
a condition of dilapidation worse than that of any professional 



RULES FOR TRAMP TOURISTS. 43 

tramp in America, but as soon as your nationality becomes 
known the game is up. 

" Ah, Inglese !" exclaims the landlord or shopkeeper, and 
placidly proceeds to add thirty or forty per cent, to his charges. 
A marked diminution in prices is noticeable the greater the 
distance from England. Beginning with Sicily and the south- 
ern part of Italy, where first-class hotels only charge thirty to 
forty cents for rooms, the price increases little by little until 
in Belgium and Holland, countries immediately across the 
channel from England, sixty to eighty cents is charged by a 
second or third rate inn. In Italy and Switzerland servants do 
not expect fees of more than two or three cents. In Belgium 
and Holland, "Sixpence, if you please, sir," and the donation 
of a less amount produces a look of withering contempt from 
the haughty menial. 

These rules, it must be observed, are given only with refer- 
ence to shopkeepers, hotel padrones, and the like; they do 
not apply to the laborers and peasants. This class, unspoiled 
by pecuniary dealings with travellers, are hospitality and kind- 
ness itself. With laborers and peasants no careful bargaining 
is necessary ; with the other classes mentioned it decidedly 
is necessary. Baedeker, the great guide-book man, advises his 
readers to give one-third of the price demanded. This would 
be good advice if it went far enough. The hotels and shop- 
keepers have learned of the advice given by Baedeker, and now 
ask four times as much as the article is worth, and as much 
as they will finally accept if pushed to the point. It would 
hardly be exaggeration to say that the man at the post-office 
who sells stamps is about the only man who does not expect 
a fee and does not have two prices for his goods. The stamp- 
man, for a wonder, asks always the same price for stamps — 
five cents for stamps (Italian, "franco-bolli") for foreign post- 
age, four cents for letters within the kingdom, Sicily, and the 
other islands included. Does any one think this an over- 
statement of the case? Let us see. Take the railroads for 
an instance. 



44 A TKAMP TRIP. 

The fare from A to B will be advertised as, say, one dollar. 
You buy a ticket with the figures $1.00 stamped thereon. Do 
you pay only one dollar for your ticket ? Not a bit of it. Hand 
the agent the exact amount the ticket on its face calls for, and 
he will calmly keep both money and ticket until there is forth- 
coming the few cents extra that is always charged by the rail- 
road to help pay their taxes. 

How is it with express and carrying companies? I had oc- 
casion when in Rome to send a package to Berlin. 

" What is the charge ?" I asked the express agent. 

" Three lire " (sixty cents). 

It so happened that an acquaintance, an Italian, had sent a 
similar package to the same destination, and I knew that he 
had paid but forty cents — two lire — so I said, 

" Troppo caro — too dear, signore. I will give two lire." 

"Ah, signore, impossible; two and a half?" 

"No, two, not a centesime more." 

"Due, solo due — only two? Ah, well, let me have it. It 
is little, but I will send it." 

Imagine a customer haggling with the Adams Express Com- 
pany about the tariff on a package from New York to Chicago ! 

This system is annoying, but with experience comes wisdom. 
And then the tricks of roguish shopkeepers are rather amusing 
than otherwise. I stepped up one day to one of the numerous 
lemonade stands that adorn the Piazzas of Italian cities, and 
said to the vendor, 

"How much for lemonade?" ' 

I knew very well the regular price was one cent per glass, 
but I wanted to play with the fellow. He looked at me sharp- 
ly, calculating how green I was and how much I could stand. 

"Cinque soldi" {^ve cents), he said. 

" Five soldi," I repeated, as if almost of a mind to buy ; then, 
drawing back : " No, signore, too dear, I cannot pay it." 

"Too dear? No, very cheap. It is fine lemonade. Come, 
cinque soldi." 

" No ; too dear." 



KULES FOR TKAMP TOURISTS. 45 

** Ah, sainted Maria, what do you wish ? Four soldi V^ 

"Still too dear." 

*^ Three?" 

" No, one. I will give you one soldo." 

" What, one soldo ? one soldo ? My God in heaven ! it is 
nothing; but take it, signore, take it. I lose, but you can take 
it," and he proceeded to pour out the lemonade. 

In this the reader has a picture of bargaining in Italy. 

Hotels frequented by English and Americans charge English 
and American prices, that is, two or three dollars a day. Ho- 
tels of the same class frequented by Italians charge from eighty 
cents to one dollar a day. Private lodgings of a respectable 
character may be had for from fifteen to thirty cents a night. 

About six in the evening I reached Rome. Without removing 
my knapsack or laying aside my staff, I began a search for 
quarters. 

To succeed in this may seem no difficult matter, but investi- 
gation proves the contrary. A great many houses bear a sign 
announcing rooms for rent, yet many of these houses have no 
rooms to rent. The reason is this : signs are taxed. This tax 
once paid, the landlord naturally wishes it to last as long as pos- 
sible. If he were to take the sign down on renting the rooms, 
and w^hen they became vacant again put back his sign, there 
w^ould be another tax to pay. The consequence is he lets it 
stay, rented or not rented, and nine times out of ten when you 
inquire at a house bearing the legend " casa locanda " (rooms 
to let), you have only your trouble for your pains. 

After considerable search I at length stumbled across a man 
who had a small room on the fourth floor, for which he asked 
two lire, but took fifteen cents per night. There was nothing 
magnificent about the room, but it was neat and clean, white 
curtains at the window, fresh, clean sheets, a few pictures on 
the walls — on the whole, such a room as in America would cost 
half a dollar a night, even when taken by the month. 

Very much cheaper are beds in workmen's lodging-houses, 
which are not over-nice. I did not try them after leaving Na- 



46 A TEAMP TRIP. 

pies. Twenty or thirty men sleep in a single room, the beds 
arranged like bunks one above the other, and, though only two 
feet v/ide, two occupants to the bed, the sleepers " spooning " 
to each other, packed like sardines. I always paid an extra cent 
for the privilege of enjoying my bed alone. I then ensconced 
myself in my sleeping-bag, and, thus armored, reclined on my 
four-cent couch and talked myself to sleep questioning and an- 
swering the ragged, unwashed, but good-hearted Italians. 

In the interior of Italy are numerous inns — osteria they are 
called — but I preferred to stop overnight with the peasants, 
who, as a rule, are most hospitable and kind. Few if any trav- 
ellers go into these out-of-the-way places. The stranger as he 
enters the gates of an interior town creates a commotion sim- 
ilar to that occasioned in American towns by the arrival of a 
circus. The children at the first glimpse of the strange-looking 
man with the slouch hat, dirty boots, and knapsack, rush into 
the house to tell their mother. I draw near, the good woman 
comes to the door to investigate matters. 

" Buon giorno " (good-day), I begin, add something about 
" La bella lingua Italiana " (the beautiful Italian language), tell 
her that I am an American, and the way is smoothed at once. 
The Italians have two weak points — pride of their language 
and interest in America. Praise the Italian and say you are 
American ; no more need be said, you are friends. 

When you have stopped with these people you have stopped 
with the hewers of wood, the drawers of w^ater — with the work- 
ers of the land ; and no other method of travel will afford so 
clear and accurate a conception of the condition of a country's 
masses, of the millions who produce the wealth which the few 
enjoy. 

I have seen little creatures, six, seven, and eight years old, 
picking leaves along the roadside to feed silk-worms. I saw a 
little girl, apparently about five years old, over a tub washing 
clothes. Old men, lame and weak, hobble along with brooms 
and baskets, sweeping up the fertilizing material found along 
the roads. Little children and old people gather up twigs and 



RULES FOK TRAMP TOURISTS. 47 

splinters for fuel, and use them witli such close economy as as- 
tonishes an American. There is no coal nor large wood ; the 
fire-places in some of the houses, however, are immensely large, 
as if expected to accommodate the huge back-logs of western 
America. The hearths are raised two feet above the floor. On 
each side is a bench where, when not at work, the peasant sits 
and. smokes. I saw a woman one cold day fill a small bucket 
with hot ashes and put it under her stool to keep herself warm ; 
it made me think of Sellers and his candle in the stove. 

The item of lodging for a poor man is small — four cents if 
you are willing to room with others, and only fifteen cents 
where you have a bed and curtained room all to yourself. Let 
us see what his food costs. 

For three cents, a pound of excellent black bread may be ob- 
tained ; a large bowl of milk costs two cents ; macaroni costs 
two or three cents a plate ; figs four cents a pound ; so-called 
wine, the last squeezings of the grape, not intoxicating, little 
more than sour water, costs eight to twelve cents a quart. 

My daily expenditures for food in Naples averaged seventeen 
cents, divided about thus : 

Bread, one pound 3 cents. 

Macaroni 3 " 

Half pound of figs 2 " 

Finocchio, a kind of coarse celery, wholesome and good 2 " 

Wine 3 " 

Milk 4 " 

Total cost of food per day 17 cents. 

Lodging 4 '* 

Total daily cost of living in Naples 21 cents. 

This diet was varied occasionally by an egg omelette cooked 
with oil (this in place of macaroni), or by artichokes, pome- 
granates, chestnuts, etc. The total cost, however, remained the 
same. 

This bill of fare will probably recommend itself to very few, 
yet it is better than that of the average Italian mechanic; 



48 



A TEAMP TEIP. 



and, for my own part, I must add that I found it both palat- 
able and wholesome. My health improved ; my weight in- 
creased. A daily walk of tw^enty or twenty-five miles gives 
one such an appetite, everything tastes good, and proves good 
for the human system. 

In Naples there are no dairies, no milkman to waken you at 
6 A.M. with a big bell, and sell you a quart of milk-and-water 
for nine cents. Instead, men walk from street to street leading 
cows by strings, and when a customer comes the cow -man 
stops and milks the desired quantity. I purchased a small tin 
bucket, and every morning and evening took a short stroll un- 
til I saw a man wdth a cow, from whom I got a quart of milk, 
and on this, with bread and figs, made an economical and nu- 
tritious meal. One would imagine this method would abso- 
lutely preclude surreptitious watering of the milk. I thought 
so, but soon found my mistake. 

I noticed the milk I drank was peculiarly thin, yet, as I had 
stood by while it was milked I w^as at a loss to understand the 
cause. Could it be that the cows drank too much water? 
One day the mystery was explained. It happened that w^hen 
I came across my cow-man he was milking for an Italian. I 
was surprised when I saw the Italian suddenly step up and 
squeeze the cow-man's arm, and still more surprised when, as a 
result thereof, I saw a stream of water spurt from the cow- 
man's sleeve. 

I mentioned this incident to the American consul, who told 
me it was a very common trick. Cow -men keep a bag of 
water under their coats, letting it down into the milk through 
a rubber tube concealed in the sleeve. AVhen detected, a 
shrug of the shoulders, a *' Santa Maria, what difference?" is 
the cool reply ; when not detected, the Neapolitan cow-man 
silently laughs as he squirts water through his sleeve and sells 
it to you at six cents a quart. 



SKULLS AND BONES. — BAMBINO. — ST. TETEK's. 49 



CHAPTER VI. 

A GALLERY OF SKULLS AND BONES.— IL SANTO BAMBINO.— A NEW 
ENGLAND LADY IN ST. PETER'S. 

Appearances in Borne are often deceptive. The most cost- 
ly galleries and magnificent palaces may on the outside look 
like dilapidated rookeries. Treasures of curiosities are con- 
cealed in the same way. One day when strolling down a very 
narrow and crooked street, I happened to glance through the 
iron grating of a window of a house which looked like the 
rest of the houses in Rome — solid, and a thousand years old. 
There was nothing extraordinary about the window ; there was, 
though, something very extraordinary about what I saw through 
the window. I saw a ghastly array of grinning skeletons, 
some propped up on sticks, others reclining on couches, others 
in a kneeling posture, a rosary and a prayer-book clutched in 
their fleshless fingers. 

That dingy-looking house so like its neighbors, right in the 
heart of Rome, passed daily by dozens of unsuspecting tourists 
— that house is the home of the Capuchin order of monks. My 
knock at the door was answered by one of the monks, a gray- 
headed man clad in coarse sack and cowl, with beads and rope 
— in fact, he was a walking St. Jacob ; that is, if the St. Jacob's 
Oil Company have not been giving the American public spuri- 
ous likenesses of their pious patron. 

This St. Jacob very willingly showed me through the estab- 
lishment, and seemed to take a delight in tapping the skulls of 
deceased saints. 

" This," he said, picking up a skull still covered with skin, 
and with the ears attached — " this was Fra Guillaume of Mo- 
dena, the city I came from. I knew him when he was a boy. 
He has been here sixteen years." 
3 



60 A TRAMP TRIP. 

*^ Where? la the monastery or on this shelf?" 

^^ Oh, on the shelf. He has been in the monastery thirty 
years. This niche was the one intended for my head," he 
continued, pointing to a place adjoining the shelf where re- 
posed the skull of Fra Guillaume of Modena. "I liked the 
place because it is near my friend ; but we must submit to the 
will of the Lord." 

" Why, what is the matter? If you wish, what is to prevent 
your skull from decorating tbe niche, and keeping company 
with your friend ?" 

"Ah, tbe government," with a profound sigh. " Since 1872 
we are forbidden- to place any more skeletons in our vaults, and 
when we die now we are taken to the cemeteries. Poor Guil- 
laume, he will miss me," picking up the skull and fondling it, 
" he will miss me. It was all arranged, and he expected me to 
fill the niche next to him." 

This gallery of skulls and skeletons has been in progress of for- 
mation upward of one hundred and fifty years. In one niche, 
standing upright, clothed in cowl and gown just as in life, is 
the skeleton of "Fra Benedetto da Kiete, morto 21 Febrairo, 
1728" (Brother Benedetto, of Riete, died 21 February, 1728). 
The same cross and string of beads which he used one hundred 
and fifty-seven years ago are in his hands now, and his fingers 
are in the act of telling those beads just as they told them 
in the days when America was a small British province, half a 
century before Washington and Napoleon were born. ' Gazing 
at Brother Benedetto, one thinks of the changes that have 
taken place since he was first stood up there in that nook of the 
Capuchin monastery. The world has moved since that time. 
How much more must it move before men will cease repining 
because they are not permitted to ornament the walls of their 
rooms with human bones and skulls ! 

This skeleton gallery is eighty or one hundred feet long. 
The ceiling is lined with finger-bones; from the centre of the 
vaulted arches depend flower -baskets, scales and w^eights, 
scythes, lyres, hour-glasses, all made out of the different 



SKULLS AND BOXES. — BAMBINO. — ST. PETER's. 51 

bones of the human skeleton. Pinned on a skull are a couple 
of verses in Italian. The first verse, in English, runs about 
thus : 

" This form, bereft of every grace, 

Which thou beholdest with wondering eye, 
Was, whilst alive, as fair of face 
As thou art now, oh, passer-by." 

The monk who conducted me around said their object was 
to make familiar the idea of death, so that when the final hour 
comes the grim monster may be greeted with equanimity. If 
all the monks are like the old fellow I saw, the gallery of skulls 
is a success — a large success. Not even a grave-digger could 
appear less concerned at the thought of departing this world 
than the gray-haired friend of Guillaume of Modena. When 
on a second visit to Rome during the following winter, I went 
again to the Capuchin monastery. It chanced to be All Souls' 
Day, and the gallery of dead men's bones was illuminated with 
hundreds of candles and lamps. Guillaume of Modena had 
not been forgotten. When I looked for his skull I found it 
lighted up by two tapers, which were spluttering and dripping 
wax down into the eye-holes and ears. 

Returning from a trip to the Catacombs of St. Calixtns, I had 
scarcely entered the Appian gate when I espied a church where 
I thought it would be well to stop and rest before walking 
into the city. Externally it was a dingy, poor-looking edifice, 
but internally it was more interesting than St. Peter's. On 
entering the door I beheld a crowd of men, women, and chil- 
dren climbing up a steep staircase on their hands and knees. 
They kissed every step with resounding smacks, and accom- 
panied this osculatory process with what were intended for 
pious ejaculations, but what seemed to me like grunts arising 
from indigestion. 

This staircase, the *'Scala Santa," was brought from Jeru- 
salem in 326 by the mother of Constantine. It is supposed 
Christ ascended it once, so those Catholics weighted down by 
unusually heavy sins, crawl up these steps and drop money in 



52 A TEAMP TRIP. 

the box of the priest who awaits them at the top, then walk 
off with easy consciences. 

One man who was going up as I entered had done too 
much sitting dow^n. There were two large holes in the rear of 
his breeches. The position he occupied — on hands and knees — 
stretched that garment, and rendered glaringly apparent the 
two windows in the rear. This comical sight, added to the 
colicky groans \Yith which he punctuated his kisses, was too 
much for my gravity. I smiled and would have laughed out- 
right had not a pious priest frozen me with an indignant look. 
I rushed away lest my risible propensities should prove too 
much, and I should shock pious souls by peals of laughter. 

There is a very cosey and tidy little restaurant on^the Piazza 
of the Pantheon. It was my custom when anywhere in that 
vicinity to dine there, and pass half an hour or so after dinner 
gazing at the Pantheon and deciphering its inscriptions. In 
the little street to the rear of the Pantheon, where it is joined 
by the Thermae of Agrippa, lives a jolly, fat-faced Italian, a 
hat presser or ironer. lie was born in the room where he 
presses hats, has lived there ever since, and will probably die 
there. 

''Yes, signorc," he said, after I had stopped before his shop 
every day for a w^eek or more, to gaze at the venerable walls of 
that Roman building — " yes, signore, it seems strange to me. 
People come from every land. They stop before my shop. 
They stare, they talk, they write in little books. Sometimes 
two or three years go by, then I see the same people again. 
They look and stare just the same. Ah, I know them — I re- 
member you when you come back, maybe ten years from now. 
I see so many — they waste so much time. The wall is old? 
Santa Maria ! it is old, very old — what then ? I not understand 
— seem to me American, Inglese, WTong here," and the mys- 
tified Italian tapped his forehead and resumed his ironing. 

There was one American w^hom my friend the hat-presser 
should have seen. I met him in the vestibule of the Pantheon, 
and attempted to awaken in him some enthusiasm over those 



SKULLS AND BONES. BAMBINO. ST. PETER's. 53 

massive bronze doors — those doors which have withstood the 
ravages of Time and Man, and remain to-day as solid and 
sound as the day they were first swung on their hinges nine- 
teen centuries ago. 

"Pshaw/' said the American, "they ain't much — ain't any- 
thing to compare with the doors of the Capitol at Washing- 
ton." 

The Capitol at Washington was his criterion for all that was 
grand or beautiful in the way of architecture. When he saw 
St. Peter's he smiled contemptuously. 

" Brag about that dome ?" he said, " why, it can't hold a 
candle to the dome at Washington." 

One of the celebrities of Rome is " II Santo Bambino " — 
the Holy Child. It is kept in the church of St. Maria in 
Aracoeli, on the Capitoline Hill, and may be visited only by 
conforming to a number of peculiar ceremonies. After con- 
ducting me into a mysterious-looking chapel, the monk got 
on his knees and unburdened himself of a long Latin prayer. 
Then proceeding to the altar, he took out a large iron key, 
turned it in the lock, the iron door over the altar flew open. 
Pressing a spring caused a box to slowly roll out from the 
recess behind the iron doors. In this box, swathed in the cost- 
liest satins and silks, covered with diamonds and rubies and 
pearls, lay II Santo Bambino — a wooden doll made of cedar 
from Mount Lebanon. It is many centuries old, and is be- 
lieved by all good Catholics to possess the power of healing 
the sick. When it is carried through the streets of Rome on 
its way to the houses of the sick, passers-by kneel on its ap- 
proach, and mutter prayers for the success of its mission. 

Meeting a New England lady in St. Peter's one day, I men- 
tioned the Holy Bambino, and told her she should not fail to 
see it. 

"What!" exclaimed the lady from New England, -"Holy 
Child? I will not countenance such superstition by going to 
see it." 

She added that she thouojht it a sin to come to see St. 



54 A TRAMP TRIP. 

Peter's. She bad committed that sin, but wished now she 
badn^t; at any rate, she would not commit another sin by 
going to see the Holy Bambino. 

** Why, then, are you in Rome, madame V^ 

"Certainly not to visit the Catholic churches and other 
works of superstition," she replied. " I am spending the win- 
ter here to study the old ruins, the Forum, the Colosseum — " 

" But are you not aware that these also are the results of 
superstition ?" 

"Yes," was the answer; "but, you know. Pagans had no 
light. There is not that excuse for Christians." 

I met this New England lady a few days afterwards in the 
Vatican. Did she think that grand edifice the result of " no 
light?" or was she growing charitable to darkness? 

St. Peter's, on Sunday mornings, is filled with priests and 
peasants. The priests officiate first at one altar, then, followed 
by a gay and picturesque crowd, they proceed to another altar 
in another part of the vast edifice, and swing their censers 
and chant again their solemn masses. The eleven confessional 
boxes, for as many different languages, are all occupied by 
father confessors. A long, slim rod sticks out of the door of 
each confessional. The penitent kneels in front of the box, 
the priest taps him on the head with his rod, and he arises 
with a light heart and clear conscience to kiss St. Peter's toe 
near by. Kisses have worn the toe smooth ; enough, however, 
still remains for many future generations to enjoy the pious 
pleasure of pressing their lips on its shiny surface. 

Among the most ancient statues in the Vatican are the two 
sitting figures, " Possidippus " and " Menander," by the sculptor 
Cephisodotus, son of Praxiteles (b.c. 364). Almost as old is 
the celebrated "Laocoon," chiselled in the time of Alexander 
the Great, and which once occupied a position in the palace of 
the Emperor Titus. The 

'' Tomb of the Scipios contains no ashes now," 

but the tomb still exists. The inscription, as legible almost as 



SKULLS AND BONES. — BAMBINO. — ST. PETER's. 55 

if made yesterday instead of two hundred and sixty years be- 
fore Christ, relates that Scipio was " a brave and a wise man " 
{fortis vir sapiensque) ; that he was virtuous, was a consul, a 
censor, an sedile."* 

In the Capitoline Museum is the bronze wolf which Cicero 
mentions as having been struck by lightning b.c. Q>5, Near by, 
in a cage, are kept, and have been kept for ages, two live wolves 
— "lineal descendants" of the wolves that suckled Romulus 
and Remus. One of the principal theatres in Rome — the Am- 
fiteatro TJmberto — is constructed in what was once the tomb 
of Augustus Csesar. The enormous mausoleum which Hadrian 
had erected to hold his ashes is now a soldiers' barrack. The 
one emperor's tomb converted into a barrack, the other into an 
opera-house ! 

These are a few of the things of ancient Rome. They arc 
fully described in the guide-books, but as all travellers write 
about them, I ring in a few merely not to be out of the fashion. 

* The full inscription runs thus : " Cornelius Lucius, Scipio-Barbatus- 
Cnainod-Patre-Proc-natus-Fortis vir sapiensque-Quojus Forma Virtutei- 
Parisuma-Fuit-Consul-Censor-Aidilis Quei (j) Fuit-Apud vos-Taurasia- 
Cisauna-Samnio Cepit subicit-Omne Loucana Opsidesque Abdoucit.'* 



56 A TRAMP TPJP. 



CHAPTER VII. 

ON THE TRAMP.— SCENES IN THE ROMAN CAJMPAGNA.— IN SEARCH 
OP A WIFE.— AMONG THE PEASANTS AND PEOPLE. 

There were not many people astir the morning I left Rome. 
The hour was early, a drenching rain was falling. When I 
reached the Piazza del Populo I paused to take my last look at 
the Eternal City. The hills of the Pincio were on my right, 
the domes of three churches were to the left ; beyond, a little 
without the gate, were the beautiful gardens of the Villa Bor- 
ghese. The sight of a stranger standing in that hard rain at 
the base of the Egyptian obelisk, now staring down the Corso, 
now gazing at the Pincio, the ancient garden of Lucullus, the 
scene of Messalina's orgies — this sight excited the surprise of 
the passers-by, who stopped and eyed me curiously. 

Summoning my blandest manner and purest Italian, I said, 

** Pardon, signore, but can you tell me what city this is ?" 

The man stared at me in amazement. 

*' This — this^ — signore — why, this is RomeP 

" Ah, Rome T 

"Si, signore, si, si, si. Surely you do not pass through 
Rome without stopping T 

"Rome?" I repeated. "Ah yes, I have heard of Rome. 
Fine town. But I am going to Florence. How far have I to 
walk to Florence V 

This was the finishing stroke. Thinking me an escaped 
lunatic, they retired to a safer distance from the heavy club I 
held in my hand. There they stood and stared and talked. 

The rain was not so bad. An ample rubber coat protected 
my body ; the broad-brimmed sombrero which I had had made 
to order in Rome served admirably to protect my head. Only 
ray feet got wet — soaked, and after ten miles I took off my 
heavy, soggy shoes and went barefoot. This proved a happy 



TDE CAMPAGNA. — PEASANTS AND PEOPLE. 07 

experiment, for the broad stones of an Italian road do not cut 
the feet ; with shoes strapped to my knapsack instead of where 
they are usually worn, I made a mile more per hour. 

Thus prepared for a storm, there is a certain feeling of pleas- 
ure in braving it, breasting the gusts of wind and rain ; a feel- 
ing of independence, of power to meet and overcome surround- 
ing circumstances. I went on enjoying this feeling: it was 
about all I had to enjoy, for the country surrounding Rome is 
singularly devoid of interest. The broad, rolling fields carpet- 
ed in green, all the brighter and richer for the recent rains, 
form beautiful landscape scenes. They scarcely compensate, 
however, for the almost total absence of human life — for the 
absence of villages and peasant huts. I walked fully twenty 
miles before I saw a single human being. He was a shepherd, 
standing: leanino- backward on his staff, both hands busily en- 
gaged in knitting. He wore a coarse shirt and breeches of goat- 
skin. With my blandest manner I approached liim. 

"Buona sera, signore" (good-evening, sir). 

A grunt and increased rapidity in the knitting. 

'' Ah, bel tempo oggi " (fine weather to-day). 

"irni — non lo credo" (I don't believe it), the knitting- 
needles fairly flying, and the knitter still propped on his stick. 

*' Where do you live ?" 

Removing the prop and standing on his own legs, he slowly 
turned. 

" Here," he said, staring at me. " Where do you live ?" 

"In America," I politely replied. "I come thousands of 
miles to see Italy, to know Italian people. You say you live 
here. Where, on the ground ?" 

He began to thaw. 

" Come, I will show you," he said, glancing at the sun, which 
in setting was making one last effort to break through the 
clouds. Whistling to his dogs, we started off across the hills 
and fields, the shepherd driving his sheep before him. 

For the last ten miles of my walk I had noticed what seemed 
to be antiquated hay-stacks ; and not observing any farms or 
3* 



58 A TEAMP TRIP. 

peasants in the region, I wondered how they came there. The 
answer to these speculations was close at hand. After going 
about a mile we came to one of these ancient-looking hay- 
stacks. I was surprised to see smoke issuing from the top and 
from crevices in the side. In tropical countries grass is some- 
times set on fire by the rays of the sun, but how had this hay 
become ignited in Italy, in winter, and in a drenching rain ? 

The hay-stack was not only a hay-stack, it was also the resi- 
dence of my new friend, the Roman shepherd. When in the 
Indian country I saw no more rude or primitive dwelling. 
A small aperture in the side served as an entrance; the inte- 
rior was dingy and full of smoke. A hole in the ground in 
the centre of the apartment was the fireplace, where burned a 
few twigs and sticks, giving forth much smoke and little 
warmth. A pile of straw in one corner served as the shep- 
herd's bed; a three-legged stool was his furniture. This he 
offered me, but I preferred to squat on the floor; the smoke that 
was arising made it less unpleasant to breathe near the ground. 

Our supper that night consisted of bread and oil — nothing 
more. The sheep he so carefully tends sell for three dollars 
each. Two months' salary of this miserable man would hardly 
more than sufiice to buy one sheep. The Roman shepherd re- 
ceives seven cents a day, and out of that sum he clothes and 
feeds himself. His hay-stack hut is his world, the sheep his 
people. Living within twenty miles of Rome, he said he had 
not been there since he was a boy. He herds sheep during the 
day, and at night, after a supper of black bread sopped in oil, 
washed down by bad water, he lays himself on his bundle of 
straw and sleeps : thus he passes his life of unvarying sameness 
and drudgery. 

When the sun rose next morning in a clear sky, he went on 
with his herding and knitting, while I continued my walk to 
Florence. 

To an American of practical proclivities it seems strange to 
see the towns and villages perched upon high hills or the al- 
most inaccessible sides of mountains, as thcv always are in his- 



THE CAMPAGNA. — PEASANTS AND PEOPLE. 59 

toric Italy. The reason is doubtless owing to the fact that the 
villages and towns began in the savage age when war was the 
general business of life, when people had to prepare to defend 
themselves against attacks. Narrow streets were advantageous ; 
it was cheaper to wall in small towns than large ; compactness 
was an economic measure. 

Another noticeable thing is the difference in the religious 
ceremonies of Catholics under the eye of the supreme pontiff, 
and in America four thousand miles from the supreme pontiff. 
The curious sight witnessed as I climbed up one thousand 
two hundred feet to the village of Montefiascone made me 
note this difference. First came a procession of about one 
thousand men and boys, all wearing long sacks which covered 
them from the tops of their heads to their heels. In the sacks 
were two holes cut for the eyes and one for the nose. Some 
of these sacks were of a sombre color, others were bright red, 
others yellow and blue. Next came a little army of men, also 
fantastically dressed, some swinging lamps, others bearing large 
crosses, while some held Bibles or skulls in their hands. 

This priestly army was followed by about five thousand peas- 
ants, men, women, and children, in gay holiday attire. They 
marched into a large church which stood on the summit of a 
hill overlooking the beautiful lake of Bolsena. As many as 
could crowded into the church ; the others stood outside. Some 
fell on their knees and told their beads as the priests chanted 
within. This performance commemorated the cessation of a 
plague that long years ago had afflicted the people. 

Modern machinery is yet a novelty in the interior of Italy. 
Old-fashioned farming implements are still used. Women still 
spin and weave after the manner of our ancestors. Weaving 
is carried on in dark rooms and damp cellars. A rapid weaver 
can make nine yards of cloth a day. He is paid three cents a 
yard. By working late the women can make thirty cents a day. 

In my report to the United States Bureau of Labor Statistics 
upon labor and the cost of living in Europe, I prepared a num- 
ber of tables showing in detail the expenditures of families with 



60 A TRAMP TRIP. 

whom I had stopped and made myself acquainted. The follow- 
ing, quoted from that report, describes a family of Italian wool- 
len weavers :^ 

" Condition. — Family of five : parents, two children five and six years of 
age, and mother of the father. Parents work at hand-looms ; the grand- 
mother spins (at home), attends to the children and to two goats, the milk 
of the goats being sold at four cents per quart. Occupy a room with earth 
floor on a level with the ground ; room divided into two compartments. 
Weaving-room on same street, up a steep hill ; only six looms, level of 
room three feet below level of street ; no windows, lighted by the door. 
Each weaver has a small bucket or jug of hot ashes or coals. This the 
women put under their dresses; the men place them at their feet. In un- 
usually cold weather a large pan of coals is set in the middle of the room. 
The weavers quit their work occasionally to sit for a few minutes around 
this pan and warm their hands and feet. 

" The fuel for this primitive heating arrangement consists to some ex- 
tent of brushwood, clippings from old grape-vines, etc. Coal is imported 
from England. Price per ton at West Mediterranean ports, $5 to $6 ; 
price in interior, |7 to $10. 

" Diet. — Breakfast : bread, coffee or wine. Dinner : macaroni or cheese, 
funnochio, bread, sometimes tripe, wine. Supper: bread, wine or coffee. 

Amount earned hy Family : 

Earnings of father $126 00 

*' *' mother 97 60 

" *' grandmother (spinning) 48 75 

" *' " (sale of milk) 43 80 

Total $316 05 

Cost of Living : 

Kent f 14 40 

Bread 53 00 

Macaroni 69 40 

Groceries, funnochio, olives, eggs, oil, etc. ...... 72 50 

Wine 51 00 

Coffee and milk 17 25 

Wooden clogs and leather shoes 7 50 

Clothing 19 65 

Iron bedstead, chairs, etc 8 70 

Total expenditures $313 40 

* Report of the Commissioner of Labor, 1886, p. 413. 



THE CAMPAGNA. — PEASANTS AND PEOPLE. 61 

Talking with a weaver one day, I told her of our country, 
our big- forests, abundant fuel, good wages. 

" Thirty cents a day is not bad," she replied. " I put by ten 
cents every day." 

*'But think, signora, in America your husband can get one 
or two dollars a day — meat, vegetables, a room with a plank 
floor, and a window." 

" Ah, signore ! can that be true for poor people ? But it is 
so far — so far away," and she went on throwing her swift shut- 
tle to earn thirty cents a day. 

In the interior places the peasants are so little accustomed to 
the visits of strangers they cannot understand why a young 
man should stroll over the land, poking his way into the cot- 
tages and spying out the customs of the people. The only pos- 
sible reason that presents itself is that the traveller is hunting 
for a wife. When the Italian peasant wishes to marry he sets 
about it in a practical way, as a man does when he wishes to 
own a horse. AVhile talking to the weaving or spinning women 
they almost invariably questioned me on the subject. 

" Married, signore ?" 

" No ; no wife." 

^' Is she dead?" 

" No ; she never lived." 

"Ah, il signore is looking around to find a wife ?" 

I was asked this question frequently. On one occasion I de- 
parted from the truth in my reply — that is, perpetrated a ridic- 
ulous joke which caused me more annoyance than I had ex- 
pected. It happened thus : one evening as I sat on the ruins 
of the town wall watching the sun set, a bright little girl of 
twelve or thirteen stopped and stared at me. As I did not ex- 
hibit any dangerous proclivities, she shyly drew nearer, and we 
soon fell into a friendly chat. 

After a while came the inevitable query : 

" Married, signore ?" 

" Unhappily, no, signorina," I replied, in a melancholy tone, 
as if my soul were pining to be mated. 



I 



62 A TKAMP TRIP. 

" Ah, il signorc vuole una moglie ?' (the signore wants a 
wife ?). 

"Five, signorina. I am looking for them now. In 
country we all have ^ve wives.'' 

" Cinque moglie !" {^ve women !), and her big eyes growing 
bigger, she turned and fled as from a monster. From the way 
she met that polygamous idea, I imagine Mormonism would 
not prosper in Italy. 

That little girl spread the news through the village, and 
wherever I appeared on the streets a mob of boys and girls 
followed and stared at me, and now and then one would cry 
out, 

"Cinque moglie — lei vuole cinque moglie!" (brutal — five 
women ! he wants five women ; he is brutal !). 

I took care after that to talk no more nonsense to the little 
peasant girls. 




HIGH LIFE. — OUIDA. — THE LEA:JsING TOWER. Go 



CHAPTER YIII. 

ITALIAN HIGH LIFE. — A CALL ON OUIDA. — TAKEN FOR A THIEF ON 
THE LEANING TOWER OF PISA. 

A FRIEND of mine lived in Florence, an American lady. 
She had married a nobleman and lived in considerable style. 
It was out of the question to call upon her in my workman's 
garb ; so, going to a fashionable tailor on the Via Calzaioli, I 
left my measure, and for the modest sum of six dollars obtained 
a very good and stylish-looking suit. 

I learned from my friend a good deal about the upper class- 
es. Their lack of energy and willingness to drift surprises an 
American. An American, no matter how great his wealth, 
works. It is the work he likes. He would be unhappy with 
nothing to do. Not so with the Italian. His ideal life is 
where there is nothing to be done. An Italian of wealth lies 
in bed until ten or eleven in the morning, alternately sipping 
coffee and dozing. From eleven until two he amuses himself 
with his toilet, with papers, correspondence ; then luncheon. At 
three or four he goes out for a drive upon the Cascine ; at six 
or seven he dines. The evening is passed at balls, operas, or 
private salons. In this idle round he passes away his existence. 
The Cascine, a beautiful drive along the Arno, is the scene of 
the Florentine's match-making. Mothers with marriageable 
daughters drive out here in the afternoon. The carriage stops 
for madame to sip an ice or to gaze at the sluggish flowing 
of the Arno's waters. The gay gallants pass by, cast soft 
glances at la bella signorina with the dark eyes ; the ne^t day 
signer papa is visited, the next week or month they are mar- 
ried. That is the Italian style. The young people never know 



64 A TRAMP TRIP. 

each other until after the wedding-day ; then they know each 
other sometimes too well. 

An officer of the army cannot marry unless possessed of at 
least forty thousand lire ($8000), which he must deposit with 
the War Department, drawing therefrom four per cent, interest 
for the benefit of his family. The pay of a captain is one dol- 
lar a day, which might suffice did he not have to bear out of 
his own pocket the expenses of servant, horse, rent, rations, 
and uniform. 

The Italian villa is usually square in shape, containing two 
halls intersecting each other at right angles. The lower floor 
is used for the sleeping and dining rooms ; the living-rooms, 
parlors, reception-rooms are up-stairs. A handsome villa, with 
garden, furniture, and everything ready for immediate occu- 
pancy, may be rented in the suburbs of Florence for two hun- 
dred and fifty lire (fifty dollars) per month. A landau, two 
horses, and man in livery to drive, costs three hundred and 
fifty lire ; or if only one horse, three hundred lire per month. 
A woman cook is paid thirty lire, a man cook fifty lire per 
month. Supplies are bought from day to day in small quanti- 
ties — five cents' worth of rice at a time, eggs by the half-dozen. 
Apples, strawberries, cherries, potatoes, etc., are bought by the 
pound, bread by the yard, pins by the ounce. Sweet potatoes 
come from Africa, and are bought by the pound. 

*'For sixty lire per month," said my friend, *' I get a man 
cook, a regular chef de cuisine. I have literally no responsi- 
bility. Every evening he sends me a bill of fare for the next 
day. I approve or make alterations as the case may be. The 
next day we dine as arranged, a la carte. It is usual to make 
a certain allowance for the table, and you tell your cook to 
furnish the best bill of fare possible within that sum. Ten 
lire (two dollars) a day is a very liberal estimate for a family 
of five." 

The cost of high life in Italy appears to be considerably less 
than in America. For a family of five the figures would stand 
thus : 



HIGH LIFE. — OUIDA. — THE LEANING TOWER. 65 

Rent of furnished villa , . , . |50 00 per month. 

Rent of landau, driver and horses ....,., 60 00 " 

Lady's-maid 4 00 

Cook 10 00 " 

Food, at two dollars per day 60 00 " 

Total $184 00 per month. 

One hundred and eighty-four dollars a month for a fashion- 
able home, carriage and horses, three servants, and a liberal 
table — the same living in America would cost treble that sum. 

Ouida, the well-known novelist, lives in a charming villa in 
the suburbs of Florence, just without the Porta San Frediano. 
I sent her a letter from the American consul, accompanied by 
this note of my own : 

*' Florence, May 10, 1885. 

" As one of the many Americans who read your works and 
admire your genius, I am desirous of calling and paying ipy 
respects. May I not hope to be accorded this honor? 

" With respect, 

*' Lee Meriwether. 
" To Mme. De la Rame, 

Villa Farinola, Via di Scandicci." - 

" Of course she will see you," said my friend, when I showed 
her a copy of this note. *' Ouida is very vain, and would «ee 
anybody who wrote like this — * her works and genius.' But 
what is this ?" getting down to the address — " Madame De 
la Rame? That settles ^^" 

'' Settles it ! How ?" I queried. 

" Settles it that you will never see Ouida. You have wound- 
ed her in her most sensitive part. * Madame ' — why, she will 
never forgive you." 

" But is she not * madamc V not married ?" 

" Certainly not. But I will tell you all about it ;" and resum- 
ing my seat, I listened to the story of Madame, or Mademoi- 
selle, De la Rame, a story as: romantic as any of her novels. 

A number of years ago, when she first came to Florence, be- 



66 A TEAMP TRIP. 

fore her peculiar views and eccentricities were known, she w^as 
received into Florentine society, and a certain marquis paid her 
attentions. The affair had made considerable progress. Even 
the trousseau, it is said, was prepared. By this time the eccen- 
tricity of Ouida's character had begun to dawn upon the noble 
marquis. When questioned one day by his Dulcinea, he deter- 
mined once for all to end the romance. 

"Did you think I was in earnest?" he said, and turned away. 

Ouida gave him one of those stony stares so often described 
in her novels, and forthwith bought a pistol and announced her 
intention of shooting the marquis on sight. The better and 
the sooner to get a sight — she had a presentiment that the 
marquis would not call again — she secured the villa adjoining 
the residence of her ex-suitor, and for six months kept a strict 
vigil, pistol in hand, with the gory purpose of putting a period 
to her ex-lover's days. The ex-lover, however, did not wish a 
period, nor even a comma, put to his days, and believing in the 
adage, " Discretion is the better part of valor," he started on a 
trip for his health. 

Unable to revenge herself on the marquis, Ouida revenged 
herself on the Florentines. She wrote "A Winter City," in 
which the frivolity, the insincerity, the ignoble qualities of the 
inhabitants of the gay Tuscan capital, are depicted without 
mercy. 

It is astonishing how soon one becomes — if the expression 
is permissible — educated to antiquities. For instance, there is 
Bradly, a young Philadelphian. Wlien I first met Bradly in 
New York he was overflowing with the usual Philadelphia 
reverence for Independence Hall and for the relics of Washing- 
ton, the antiquities of which his home boasts. After Pompeii 
and Eome and the Pantheon, AVashington and Independence 
Hall seemed things of yesterday. 

"Oh, bother!" exclaimed Bradly, when I pointed out the 
resting-place of a saint of the eleventh century, " I don't care 
to see these modern tombs." 

In comparison with Scipio's tomb, the tomb of the eleventh 



HIGH LIFE. — OUIDA. — THE LEANING TOWER. 67 

century saint is modern. Scipio's tomb is modern compared 
with the tombs in the Egyptian Museum of Florence. Here 
are coffins that date back 3000 years e.g., and one nice mum- 
my is said to precede even this early period by a thousand 
years. It is the mummy of a boy. The hair is combed in 
quite a modern style. There are other mummies finely pre- 
served, but none so well as this boy, this contemporary of 
Adam, this boy older by five thousand years than any other 
boy in the world. 

To come down to modern times — that is, to about the year 
1500 — there are in the Buonorotti Gallery some very interest- 
ing sketches by Michael Angelo. One sketch, a small off-hand 
affair in pencil, has this line scribbled in one corner: 

" Send this to Bologna, 1597." 

Seeing these pencillings so fresh and so clear, brings the six- 
teenth century very near to us. 

No city in Italy is more charmingly situated than Florence. 
Heading from the Porta Romana, and winding around and up 
the neighboring hills, is a broad and magnificent avenue shaded 
on both sides by a line of stately cypress-trees — a drive that 
possibly has its equal in Paris and the other great European 
capitals, but has not its like in Italy. There is nothing in the 
vicinity of Rome to be compared with it, and when the king 
wishes a really first-class drive he must needs come to Florence. 

I went over to Pisa from Florence, and saw something there 
considerably more astonishing than the Leaning Tower. Just 
as I was entering the door of the tower for the purpose of as- 
cending, a smirking little fellow, with a thick shock of well- 
greased hair, stepped up and said, in Italian, 

*^ Good-day, signore. Do you wish me to go up in the tow- 
er with you ?' 

" Why should I wish your company V 

** Oh, pardon !" said the Italian, " I thought you were going 
up the tower." 

^^Solam.^' 



68 



A TRAMP TRIP. 



"Ab, then, signore, you Avill need me. I will go with you 
for half a lira, and another man, a friend of mine, I can get 
to go also for half a lira." 

I set the man down as either witless or possessed of unlim- 
ited impudence. Neither assumption w^as correct. When I 
entered the tower, the custodian informed me that permission 
to ascend was given only to parties of three. 

" Why r said I. 

The custodian shrugged his shoulders. 

"Eead this," he said, pointing to some printed regulations 
hanging on the wall. I read, and found such was the fact. 
Less than three persons are not permitted to ascend the Lean- 
ing Tower of Pisa. The reason? I can only imitate the cus- 
todian, and shrug my shoulders. 

The steps leading to the summit of the tower are much 
worn. Two ruts have been made in each step by the many 
feet that have trod them during the last seven hundred years. 

While gazing from the summit of the tower upon the quaint 
old Italian city below, upon the sinuous Arno and the blue 
Mediterranean, a party came up, consisting of four blooming 
young girls and an elderly lady of rather stern and disdainful 
aspect. The young ladies made a break for the railing and the 
view, but the elderly lady cast a furtive glance at me, then de- 
posited her luncheon-basket, parasol, and other etceteras on the 
floor, and plumped herself down beside them. 

*'Why, auntie, what's the matter?" exclaimed one of the 
girls. ** Come to the railing for the view." 

" Never mind me, girls," was the grim response. 

"Good gracious, aunt, why climb up this dreadful tower if 
you don't intend to see the view ?" 

** Hush !" said the old lady, with a grim glance at me. " Do 
you not see that villanous-looking Italian ? I must stay by the 
things." 

" Madam," I said, in my best English, " as I have seen the 
view, I am happy to a:Sord you relief by descending." 

The old lady wilted, and the young ones stared. 



AN ADVENTURE IN FLOEENCE. 69 



CHAPTER IX. 

AN ADVENTURE IN FLORENCE. 

Nearly a year later I again visited Florence. I came direct 
from the muggy, drizzly fogs of England, and on that account, 
perhaps, found the sparkling clear atmosphere that surrounded 
the old city particularly pleasant and agreeable. I hastened to 
enjoy myself while the opportunity lasted. 

The very afternoon of my arrival, after depositing ray goods 
and chattels in the room at the hotel, I donned a spring suit 
and sallied forth for a stroll through the famous Barbolli Gar- 
dens. 

There was not the slightest sign of rain, there was not even 
a cloud ; nevertheless, I took my umbrella from habit acquired 
in foggy England. Ordinarily the act of carrying an umbrella 
is not attended by any serious or unusual result. It was so 
attended in this case, however, and that is why I am particular 
to mention the fact; indeed, had it not been for the umbrella 
there would not be this tale to tell. 

But to proceed. 

The sky was cloudless, the air balmy. I went along swing- 
ing my umbrella and whistling a tune for joy at seeing the sun 
once more. For an hour I strolled through the shaded walks 
of the garden, then as evening drew nigh, I ascended to the 
heights which overlook the Arno and afford such an excellent 
view of Florence. Alas! the sunset was a failure. Before I 
had climbed half-way a breeze sprang up; when I reached 
the summit there were clouds ; when I stood near the statue 
of David, and gazed to see the sunset, there was rain. And 
this was sunny Italy ! 

I was about to give vent to an expression more forcible than 



70 A TRAMP TRIP. 

elegant, apropos of the villanous weather that pursued me, 
when ray eye w^as caught by a fair young creature, crouching 
on the lee side of the monument, in an effort to secure some 
slight shelter from the rain. I felt sheepish and ashamed. 
Here I was with a big umbrella complaining, while that lovely 
girl w^as being drenched. I resolved to play the Good Samari- 
tan at once. 

** Scusatemi, signorina," I said, mustering my best Italian as 
I approached Her — *^ scusatemi, signorina, mace una pioggia ter- 
rible. Volete stare con me sotto Tombrello V^ (Excuse me, sign- 
orina, but it is a fearful rain. Will you not stand under my 
umbrella?) 

She gave me a shy glance, then blushed and looked down. 
I knew that Italian etiquette was very severe, but, certainly, if 
there was ever a time for dispensing with ceremony it was on 
an occasion like this. 

I repeated my offer, and without awaiting her consent stepped 
to her side and sheltered her as best I could. For some mo- 
ments there was constraint between us. I used the interval 
in observing the beautiful complexion and silken tresses of my 
companion. Singularly enough, she was a pronounced blonde. 
Her hair w^as of that lovely golden shade known as " Titian,'^ 
from being the favorite color of that great master, though I do 
not know wherd Titian saw any golden-haired women. There 
seem to be few in Italy to-day. My fair companion was grow- 
ing restless. 

" lo credo — io credo che besorgna partire " (I think — I think 
I must be going), she said, presently, in the softest Italian. 

" Con piacere ma sotto il mio ombrello " (with pleasure, 
but under my umbrella). 

*' Che' — what, I keep dry and let you get wet ? Never," and 
she smiled and displayed her pretty teeth. 

I was delighted. I saw she was thawing. 

" Then we will both keep under the umbrella," I said. *' Tell 
me where you live, and I will take you home." 

*'Gia', ma e' lontano" (but it is far). 



AN ADVENTURE IN FLORENCE. 71 

" Ma, io insistere " (nevertheless, signorina, I insist). 

She hesitated, I remained firm ; she yielded— we started off 
together. 

The rain did not seem half so unpleasant now as it had be- 
fore. Indeed, I should have felt badly had it ceased. Fortu- 
nately it continued, and with vigor, so that not only did my love- 
ly companion have no excuse to dispense with me, but to keep 
at all dry she was obliged to stick close to my side. I am bound 
to confess that after the first shyness had worn away she stuck 
well. The space between us was scarcely appreciable, and I felt 
a proportionate amount of bliss and ecstasy. There was one 
drawback — I had forgotten most of my Italian. I could ask 
and answer simple questions, but that was all. As the con- 
versation grew more general, I got into deeper and deeper 
water. 

'' The d— 1 r' I exclaimed, at length, in English. '' What a 
pity I can't talk Italian !" 

"Oh! are you English?" she exclaimed, in excellent English, 
and broke into a little peal of laughter. 

I was covered with confusion. She had heard and under- 
stood my impolite ejaculation. 

" Yonr pardon, signorina, but truly I had no idea you under- 
stood English." 

"You did not?" She laughed. "What a notion. I am al- 
most English myself, and papa is English. I was born and 
brought up in Italy, but papa always talks English to me. I 
understand everything, though," modestly, " when I speak it 
is with an accent." 

She did have an accent, but it was a delightful one, and I 
told her so. This girl was becoming more charming every mo- 
ment, and now that our talk was in a language we both under- 
stood, progress became rapid. 

" Ah, you are a tourist ?" she said, presently. 

Now, in Italy tourists are looked upon with a kind of con- 
tempt — are looked upon as simpletons, with nothing to do but 
stalk around with red guide-books, and poke about old ruins. 



V2 A TRAMP TEIP. 

I could not bear to have this fair creature look upon me in that 
light. I answered, boldly, 

"No, not at all. It is not your ruins but your fruit that at- 
tracts me." 

''Our fruit?" 

"Yes. I am a fruit-merchant. I am buying fruit for our 
New York house." 

She looked at me beamingly. 

" Well, if that isn't a coincidence. Why, papa is a fruit-mer- 
chant. He sends a great deal of fruit to England. How nice 
if you could meet him I" 

I confessed it would be nice, but as I did so I began inward- 
ly to marvel at the ease with which our acquaintanceship pro- 
gressed. It came about that I told her my name. She told me 
hers — Bettola Brown ; she liked Italy, but was anxious to see 
her father's native land. No, her mother was not living, she 
lived alone with her father ; and thus we chatted until sudden- 
ly she paused before a house and a garden surrounded by a 
high wall. 

" This is papa's villa. We must ring here." 

A moment and the heavy door swung open. A handsomely 
dressed, elderly man appeared with hat and umbrella, as if on 
the point of going out. The lovely Bettola relinquished my 
arm and flew to that of the elderly gentleman who opened the 
gate. 

" Oh, papa ! how glad I am to find you at home." 

" Yes, dear," replied the old gentleman, " you just did find 
me. I was about to start out to look for you. Are you not 
drenched ?" 

"No, indeed, and that is why I am glad to find you. I want 
you to thank this gentleman. It was he who protected me," 
and she forthwith introduced me. 

Mr. Brown was a cordial man. When, after passing a few 
commonplace phrases, I lifted my hat to say good-day, he took 
my arm and with a hearty laugh led me into the house. 

" My dear sir," he said, " pray do not be so ceremonious. 



AX ADVENTURE IN FLORENCE. . 73 

You have brought my daughter out of the wet, and now you 
must accept a scat by my fire until the rain holds up." 

" That's right/' chimed in the daughter. " Besides, papa, I 
know you will like to talk to Mr. Meriwether. lie is a New 
York fruit-merchant." 

" Indeed !" exclaimed Mr. Brown ; " well, that settles it. I 
cannot let you go until we have had a good chat ;" and so say- 
ing, he led me through the hall of his villa into a spacious and 
handsomely -fitted drawing-room. It was not cold, but the 
damp was penetrating, and the cheerful glow that came from 
the grate was anything but unwelcome. 

"The couch of the wicked is not of down." I soon 
found cause to regret that little romance about being a fruit- 
merchant. Mr. Brown asked more questions about fruit than 
I had ever heard before. I Avas sadly ignorant of the subject. 
and gave what must have been astonishing replies, though Mr. 
Brown, from politeness, doubtless, made no comment. 

" How is the Sicilian orange regarded in America ?" he con- 
tinued. I knew nothing of the Sicilian orange. I don't think 
I had so much as ever seen one. How was I to answer such 
questions? 

" Not so favorably as the Florida orange," I answered, at a 
venture. 

"Ah, its flavor is perhaps inferior to that of the Florida 
orange, but do you not think it preserves better ?" 

"Well, no — that is — er— yes — I mean I am not sure about 
it," and so the conversation continued, to my great inconven- 
ience and discomfort. 

Signorina Bettola had changed her dress and v/as now sit- 
ting opposite me, warming her feet by the fire. She looked 
lovely, bewitching, but her father's fruit conversation was so 
depressing that I arose to leave. Mr. Brown accompanied me 
into the hall ; he opened the door to afford me exit. The 
wind and rain blew in in a gust, almost extinguishing the lamp 
in the hall. 

"You may as well lay aside your hat and umbrella, Mr. 
4 



H A TRAMP TRIP. 

Meriwetber," said Mr. Brown, closing the door. ** I cannot 
think of turning you out in such a storm as this." 

"But,'^ I remonstrated, "I am a stranger to you — I have an 
umbrella — I cannot impose — " 

"Say no more, say no more," he replied, bluffly, but cord- 
ially. "You have shown a kindness to my daughter, and 
must accept my hospitality for the night," and without fur- 
ther ado he took my arm and led me back to the drawing- 
room. 

I was in mortal fear lest he should resume his queries as to 
the fruit trade. Fortunately the conversation turned upon 
other topics. What was still better luck, in a few minutes 
Mr. Brown excused himself and left his daughter to entertain 
me. And how delightfully she succeeded ! It was a joy even 
to look at her — when she spoke with her charming Italian 
accent, I felt myself becoming dangerously romantic. 

"Do you not play?" I asked, seeing the open piano at the 
end of the room. 

" No ; or at least only accompaniments. I sing a little." 

" You will sing for me then ?" 

"Yes, if you like songs." 

If I liked songs ! Of course I liked them. I would have 
liked anything from her lips. She took her seat at the piano, 
and, first running her fingers idly over the keys, began a soft 
Italian ballad. I am aware that what I am now about to con- 
fess was not proper. I will even admit that it w^as very im- 
proper; but there certainly were extenuating circumstances. 
It was in Italy, the land of romance and beautiful women, the 
land of Romeo and Juliet. If a body is not to become ro- 
mantic in Italy, pray, where is a body to become so ? 

I became romantic. 

As the soft vowels floated to my ears my right arm some- 
how got itself around Bettola's waist. I bent over, my cheek 
touched her silken hair, my soul rose to heaven — a clap of 
thunder brought it to earth again. Mr. Brown's heavy hand 
w^as on my shoulder. His voice rang in my ears. 



AN ADVENTURE IN FLORENCE. ^5 

**Whatr' he exclaimed, ** j^oiir arm around my daughter? 
You are affectionate upon first acquaintance T' 

I was surprised — and relieved. He had seen all, yet did not 
mean to kick me out of the house. I admitted that I had 
permitted my absent-mindedness to carry me too far, and Mr. 
Brown generously permitted the subject to drop. Not the 
least surprising part about this business was the fact that 
Bettola had remained perfectly unconcerned when her father 
discovered my arm around her. 

" She looks as if she were quite used to it," I thought. 

*' I was only singing Mr. Meriwether a song," she said, with 
a light laugh, and neither she nor her father referred to the 
subject again. 

Despite this generous treatment I felt a little embarrassed, 
and was only too glad when at last my host, remarking that I 
must be tired, rang for a lamp, and himself conducted me to 
my room. 

" Before you retire," he said, placing the lamp on the table 
and drawing from his pocket a leather case, *' I wish you to 
try one of these cigars. The tobacco is Turkish. I think you 
will relish the flavor." 

I accepted one and bade him good-night. 

The room — not a large one — was immediately over the hall, 
its one window looking out on the garden. The bed was 
placed at the window end of the room. The head of the bed 
partly obstructed the view from the window. I made these 
observations after I had closed the door and lighted my cigar. 
I had not before felt particularly drowsy ; all of a sudden, how- 
ever, my eyes seemed to grow heavy — I could scarce get in 
bed fast enough. 

Putting my watch and pistol under the pillow, I hastily di- 
vested myself of my clothing, threw aside the half -smoked 
cigar, and tumbled into bed as fast as I could. I seemed al- 
most instantly to sleep. How long the sleep lasted I cannot 
say ; but it was not a peaceful slumber. A dream that was 
almost a nightmare played through my brain, and at length 



76 A TKAMP TKIP. 

became so vivid that, chilled and trembling, I awoke. Where 
was I ? My eyes grew accustomed to the darkness. I looked. 
Yes, there was my door standing wide open. What did it 
mean ? Had that cigar been drugged ? Who was this Brown ? 
How reckless to sleep in a strange house ! These and a hun- 
dred similar thoughts rushed through my mind. I drew my- 
self slowly up, I endeavored to pierce the thick darkness. 
There at the foot of my bed lay the crouching figure of a man ! 

The suddenness of the discovery quite took away my breath. 
Recovering myself, I reached slowly for my pistol, then spring- 
ing from the bed and backing against the wall, to be safe from 
attack behind, I demanded, 

"What do you want?'' 

There was no answer. 

"Who are you?" 

Again no answer. 

" If you do not speak I will shoot," I cried, and at the same 
time sprang forward and dealt the man a stunning blow with 
the butt of my pistol. He rolled over. I seized him by the 
throat. It Avas oold — the man was dead — I had struck a 
corpse ! 

The discovery froze my blood. That there had been foul 
play in the house I did not for a moment doubt. The body 
had evidently been placed in my room to direct suspicion upon 
me. It was a delicate situation. Without an instant's delay 
I resolved to beat a retreat. Dressing and pocketing my valu- 
ables, I stole softly out of the room, down the steps, and to 
the hall door. Horror ! It was locked, and the key was gone! 

What was to be done next? It did not require a moment 
to decide. Cautiously feeling my way to the farther end of 
the hall, I tried the door there. It w^as unlocked. I opened 
it, and found myself in a room literally strewed with tables, 
chairs, and debris. There had evidently been a desperate 
struggle, and the murdered man, whoever he w^as, had died 
hard. I struck a match, and by its faint light discerned the 
cards, counters, and other appliances of gambling. Suddenly 



AN ADVENTURE IN FLORENCE. 77 

the sounds of footsteps reached me. Extinguishing the match, 
I drew behind the door. The next moment Mr. Brown entered, 
holding a candle in one hand and with the other stanching 
a flesh wound on his cheek. I waited until he was fairly in 
the room, then making a rush, I — 

I awoke. It was simply a case of Italian nightmare. 



78 A TRAMP TRIP. 



CHAPTER X. 

CURIOUS CARS.— THE ITALIAN RAILROAD SYSTEM.— A FUNERAL IN 
VENICE. — HOW GLASS EYES ARE MADE. 

The country nortli-east of Bologna is dull and uninteresting. 
Nearer Venice it is not only disheartening, it is impassable. 
There are nothing but marshes, lagoons, and bogs. A tramp 
in that district is like a tramp in the Mississippi bottoms di- 
rectly after an overflow. Therefore I repressed my pedestrian 
proclivities, invested $1.81 in a third-class ticket, and boarded 
the train for Venice. 

When one buys a ticket at an Italian station there is a choice 
of three kinds — first, second, and third. The first entitles the 
holder to a seat in a car almost, though not quite, as luxurious 
as a Pullman ; the second class entitles the holder to a seat as 
comfortable as the first class, but not as elegant or as fine, that 
is, the plush is not quite so new or so red. Almost all well- 
to-do travellers ride in the second class. *' Foreigners and 
fools," as the Italians say, ride in the first. The third class is 
patronized by peasants and the poorer classes generally, and 
occasionally — only occasionally — by an economical tourist. 

After buying your ticket you are allowed to enter the sta- 
tion and the train. As a rule you are not bothered or noticed 
again until at your destination, where your ticket has to be 
shown and given up before you can pass out through the gate. 
As no conductors go through the train, I wondered what there 
w^as to prevent one buying a third-class ticket and getting into 
a first-class car. 

" If you dress well," said an Italian fellow-passenger, " no 
notice may be taken of your being in a first or second class 
car." 



ITALIAN EAILROADS. — A FUNERAL. — GLASS EYES. 19 

"But should a guard happen to ask to sec your ticket, 
what then ?' 

"Oh, I tell you, I would rather sit on a board bench for 
a few hours, than possibly have to peck rock in a stone jail 
for several months." 

Pecking rock is not a pleasant pastime, and as the fraud in 
question is a penal offence, I no longer wonder that it is sel- 
dom attempted. Four out of five might pass undetected, but 
then as each tbinks he will be the fifth, the absence of con- 
ductors is no security. 

Some Italian cars are two stories high. The lower floor is di- 
vided into three sections, the two at the ends being second class, 
that in the middle first class. The upper floor, reached by a 
spiral staircase at the end of the car, is one large compartment 
used altogether by third-class passengers. The third class has 
harder seats than the other two, but the superior view makes 
up for that. The advocates of the European style of car claim 
that it secures exclusiveness. It is to be hoped the exclusive- 
ness is satisfactory; there is nothing else to brag of. There 
are no water-coolers, no closets ; you cannot stand up and 
stretch your cramped legs, or w^alk about when wearied with 
sitting. The passenger is locked up like so much freight, and 
shipped to his destination. Somewhere about half-way from 
Bologna I became tired of sitting still, and thought I w^ould 
get out and stretch a little. By climbing half way out of the 
window, and nearly falling out and breaking my neck, I at 
length managed to reach the bolt and unfasten the door. Then 
I stepped out with a feeling of relief. In a very short minute 
I had to step back again, and this time with a feeling of any- 
thing but relief, for the guard, who came running up, fairly 
hustled me in. He seemed outraged at what he called my 
" rashness." 

"The train may start at any moment; you endanger your 
life in trying to jump on." 

I meekly replied that I merely wanted a stretch and a drink 
of water. 



80 A TRAMP TRIP. 

" You can have tlie water, but you can't have the stretch," 
said the injured ofBciaL Then he whistled for the water-man. 
A glass of it was brought to my window, for which I paid one 
cent. 

The pedestrian can stretch and drink water ad libitum^ but 
when he enters a town of only a thousand or two inhabitants 
he is waylaid at the gate and required to give a history of him- 
self — whence he comes, how long he means to stop in the town, 
what is his age, his profession, what the profession of his father. 
These questions answered, the officer at the gate begins a per- 
sonal examination. If you have a piece of cheese and bread, 
a bottle of wine, or other article of food, you are taxed from 
twenty to one hundred per cent, on the value of your luncheon. 
One day I was entering a town with a bottle of wine and a 
little bread and cheese. An officer stopped me and demanded 
seven cents tax. 

'^Tax for what?" lasted. 

" On those provisions." 

^'But I do not mean to sell this luncheon. It is for my 
own use." 

*' Can't help it — seven cents." 

" Oh, ^jou can't help it, eh? Well, Fll help it." So going 
to a grassy plot near by, I ate my luncheon then and there. 
When, a few minutes later, I passed through the gate on the 
outside of the luncheon, instead of the luncheon on the outside 
of me, the officer grumbled and looked indignant at being 
*' done " out of his seven cents. 

As the train was entering Venice I noticed two peasant 
women stuffing chickens under their dresses. The scheme 
seemed likely to succeed. They had delivered their tickets up 
to the gate-man, and were passing on out of the depot when, 
in an evil moment, the half-smothered fowls set up a loud 
cackling. The poor peasant w^omen were hauled back, and 
their hens confiscated, for attempting to smuggle. 

Venice is one of the few places in Italy that fully comes up 
to one's previous ideas, which does" not suffer from being seen 



ITALIAN RAILROADS. — A FUNERAL. — GLASS EYES. 81 

in reality instead of throngli poet's dreams. From the very 
nature of lier surroundings change is impossible. In Rome 
whole streets have been, and are now being, levelled and widen- 
ed and modernized. Even in Pompeii, which it would seem 
ought to retain undiminished all its ancient interest — even 
Pompeii loses much because of the nineteenth century modern- 
isms that environ it. To hear the engines whistle and the cars 
rattle and the guards cry, " Pompeii — all out for Pompeii !" is 
necessarily disillusioning to the romantic tourist, who wishes in 
fancy to go back two thousand years and live in the past. 

In Venice the streets of w^ater cannot be straightened, cannot 
be widened, cannot be changed. The city cannot expand. As 
was Venice three hundred years ago, so she is to-day. The 
gondolas are as black, are as graceful as in ye olden time. The 
palaces with their steps leading down into the water are as 
quaint and as curious. The people with their lazy, indolent 
habits are as proud now as I imagine were the ancient Vene- 
tians in the days of their city's greatest glory. 

When I first read about Venice, as a school-boy, in school 
geographies, I had the idea that the only way to get about 
there w^as by the gondola. That is not so. The one hundred and 
seventeen islands upon which the city is built are islands by 
reason of the one hundred and forty-seven canals that wind in 
and around and about them. Along the sides of these canalo 
you cannot walk; the houses and palaces are built to the wa- 
ter's edge, but in the rear of the houses are streets, the stran- 
gest and most curious imaginable. Some of them are not above 
three feet wide, " fat men's misery " streets, as it were. Three 
hundred and ninety-eight bridges connect the little streets, and 
one who is good at threading labyrinthian ways may go all 
over Venice without looking at a gondola. 

'^ If there is any place," I thought, " where I shall have to 
abandon cheap living, that place is Venice. Here I cannot 
- tramp about in search of cheap lodging and eating places." 

This was a mistake. Depositing my knapsack at the station, 
paying therefor a two-cent fee, I set out through the crooked 
4* 



82 A TRAMP TRIP. 

little streets, seeing the city, and at the same time keeping my 
eye open for signs of furnished rooms and inns, of which I 
found any number for fifteen cents a day. I got a very nice 
apartment on the Riva degli Schiavoni, looking out on the sea 
and commanding a charming view of the Grand Canal with its 
gondolas and gondoliers. The Lido, which I could see from my 
window, is the Coney Island of Venice. The gay Italians go 
there to sport in the Adriatic's waves. I went and sported also. 
It is a fine place. The bathing-houses are comfortable and 
spacious;, the long gallery overlooking the sea is usually, of 
summer afternoons, crowded with ladies, who watch and ap- 
plaud the skilful swimmers. The bright black and dark dreamy 
eyes of the fair Venetians are no doubt a magnetic stimulation. 
The bathers under their influence were wonderfully expert. 

I have taken swims in almost all the great bodies of water 
on the globe — in the Pacific on the western, in the Atlantic 
on the eastern coast of America ; in the Gulf of Mexico, in the 
great lakes of the North, in the Mediterranean Sea at Capri, the 
Adriatic at Lido, the Black Sea at Varna. For a swim of the 
most novel and delightful sort, however, I would recommend 
none of these, but rather the waters of the Great Salt Lake. 
The ocean in comparison with that body is almost fresh. You 
cannot sink in Salt Lake. It is like lying on a feather-bed. 
You can recline easily on your back, stick your feet out of the 
water, and perform other experiments that in ordinary water 
would insure drowning in two minutes. The day I went in 
that remarkable lake a big Mormon came floating by me ; in 
his wake was a procession of his wives. It is not every day 
you see a man bathing with four or five of his wives. 

Nothing is more fascinating than " gondoliering." The very 
atmosphere makes one lazy. In Venice not more than a day 
is necessary to attune the most restless soul to the slow, luxu- 
rious movement of the gondola. The gondolier stands at the 
extreme rear of his shell-like boat; you do not see him, the 
monotonous stroke of his oar is all the sound you hear; the 
boat you loll in seems a thing of life, moving of its own accord. 



ITALIAN RAILKOADS. — A FUNERAL. — GLASS EYES. 83 

At nigbt the charm and romance is heightened. The moon 
lights with a pale and silvery hue the old palaces that rise up 
direct out of the water ; other gondolas glide by, some silent- 
ly, some sending forth the music of the guitar, or the songs of 
youth and love — all this makes even the most practical fellow 
from America feel as if he had at last found a fairy world. 

Gondoliering appears to be easy. I thought I would try it. 

"Voi siete stanci" (you are tired), I said one night to my 
gondolier. "If you like you may rest, and I will row for you." 

** You, signore ? Why, you cannot learn to stand up here in 
less than two months." 

I smiled scornfully, and resolved to show this ignorant Vene- 
tian what an American can do when he chooses. 

" I have rowed boats on the Hudson, on the Mississippi. 
These smooth waters are nothino- to our bio^ rivers." 

" Ah, buono — good, signore, I take you where you have nice 
swim. Signore, you take clothes off." 

Although I did not in the least accept the idea that there was 
the slightest necessity to take off my clothes in order to be ready 
for a ducking, still, as he slowly paddled over to the lagoon be- 
tween the cemetery and Murano, I pulled off my clothes to take 
a plunge after my first lesson in the Venetian art of gondoliering. 
As said, nothing seems easier. The oar rests in an oar-lock 
a foot or eighteen inches high. There is nothing to hold the 
oar in the lock, but this I did not notice until I tried it myself. 
It stayed there so quietly and pleasantly as long as the Italian 
was at the stern, that it never occurred to me but that the oar 
belonged there, and stayed of its own accord — another mistake ! 

Scarcely had I taken position at the stern of the boat and 
made the first stroke, when the oar flew out of that lock, and I 
flew out of the boat into the water. I thanked the gondolier 
for his friendly warning. My clothes were saved a wetting. 
After swimming around to my heart's content, I climbed into 
the gondola and tried it over again, with the same result. A 
third and fourth attempt proving no more successful, I came to 
the conclusion that gondoliering is not so easy as it seems. 



84 A TRAMP TRIP. 

Going back to my room, I saw a number of people swimming 
about tbe streets. In Venice people go swimming in their back 
yards or along the streets and avenues. 

Gondoliering is cheap — twenty cents for the first hour, ten 
cents for each hour thereafter. The price is the same for one 
or four persons, so if you have three companions, you may 
gondolier around the hundred-isled city at the low rate of two 
and a half cents an hour. 

Everywhere in Italy funeral ceremonies differ from those in 
America. In no place is the difference so great as in Venice. 
Strolling in the neighborhood of the Grand Canal, I heard a 
chant in a church near by. Entering, I found myself with sev- 
eral hundred others at a Venetian funeral. The corpse lay on 
a pyramid in the centre of the church, surrounded by huge can- 
dles, each candle five or six inches in diameter. Priests were 
saying prayers, hired mourners were groaning and grieving at 
so much per hour, and a number of boys were swinging vessels 
of incense, which, though doubtless inoffensive to the deceased, 
were fairly stifling to the by-standers. 

After an hour of praying, chanting, swinging of incense, etc., 
vsome men climbed up on the pyramid, got the coffin down, and 
carried it out. Other men shouldered the huge candles and 
walked along-side the coffin, half a dozen on each side. Scarce- 
ly was the coffin without the door when a lot of ragged men 
fell upon their knees, and began scraping from the marble 
floor into their caps the drippings of the large candles. So 
keen was their rivalry, it seemed for a moment as if their re- 
spective claims to the candle drippings was to be settled by 
force. 

Without the church a procession was formed, first of girls 
in white dresses, each bearing a candle three or four feet long; 
then the coffin with a line of men on each side, with candles 
six feet long; then the family and hired mourners; then a 
brass band. The undertaker wore white gloves and a white 
hat, and the gondola hearse was gaudy with gold and silver 
trappings. All other gondolas in Venice, by an old law of the 



ITALIAN KAILKOADS. — A FUNERAL. — GLASS EYES. 85 

Middle Ages, are painted a dead black; only those boats in- 
tended for the dead are white and gay. 

After the family had embarked in their gondola, the hearse 
was launched, and soon a long procession was gliding along 
the smooth waters of the canal, under the bridge of the Rialto, 
on to the cemetery. The cemetery is an island three-quarters 
of a mile from the city. There the burial ceremony was con- 
cluded; the body was laid away, there was a loud flourish of 
trumpets, the brass band played some lively airs, and then ev- 
erybody went home — the mourners probably to a dance, the 
family of the deceased probably to a theatre. For that is the 
way in Italy ; they are a gay-hearted people, and don't let a 
little thing like a funeral disturb their equanimity. 

As I was about re-embarking for the city, I saw another 
burial, not so imposing as that just described, but equally as 
interesting. The deceased was a poor soldier, a private in the 
Italian army, who was being laid away to his last rest. The 
gaudy plume and coat of the dead soldier were spread on the 
plain deal box. His comrades bore him to the long trench 
that lay open, already half full, and looking as if yawning for 
more. This poor man — one of the half million men that Italy 
takes from their homes to die of disease, bad food, and hard- 
ships in her standing army — this man was buried with scant 
respect. The priests hurried with their prayers, as if grudging 
them to a common soldier; then his coat and plume were re- 
moved — they belonged to the State, and will serve for another 
soldier; the box was covered with earth, and all was over. 
The priests hurried back to the walls of their cool monasteries, 
the soldiers re-entered their gondolas with smiles and rude jests 
on their lips. 

How fortunate that man has not the gift of foresight ! What 
would not the mother of that soldier-boy have suffered when 
nursing her innocent babe on her knee, had she foreseen the 
day when a crowd of rough and careless men were to lay him 
away — lay him away in a trench along with paupers and 
thieves in an island in the sea ! 



86 A TRAMP TETP. 

While on the subject of funerals I will mention another 
method of disposing of the dead which I witnessed among the 
Indians of the wild West. There it is the custom to bury the 
dead in trees. A tree with spreading boughs is selected, and 
the body, wrapped in sheets and blankets, is placed on a kind 
of platform built among the limbs, where it is left free and 
high in the air. Eight miles from Fort Reno is a cemetery of 
these tree-graves, where, during my stay in the encampment, a 
squaw was consigned to her last resting-place. For several 
days afterwards the friends of the departed yelled and wailed 
around that tree as if demented ; then they picked themselves 
up and went back to their tepees. A singular thing about In- 
dian grief is its periodicity ; that is, it comes and goes — ebbs 
like a fever. A bereaved widow or mother may be in an agony 
of grief to-day, to-morrow it is over, and may remain over for 
perhaps several years ; then suddenly the long pent-up sorrow 
bursts forth ao:ain and there is more howlinoj and wailino*. The 
day the burial above referred to took place, there were some 
mourners under the tree crying over — or, more correctly, under, 
for the corpse was up in the tree — the body of the chief, Stone 
Calf, then dead for upward of seven years. Exposed to the 
dry air and sweeping winds of the broad prairies, the body 
Boon crumbles away, leaving only a skeleton loosely wrapped 
in sheets and bandages. It is hard to conceive how emotion 
can be aroused over (or under) such remains. 

Venetian glass is famous the world over, not a little of which 
reputation is owing to the family Rubbi. The knack of mak- 
ing artificial eyes seems in particular to be an hereditary gift 
in this family; they have been making glassware and glass 
eyes for three hundred and eighty-six years. I watched Sign- 
ore Rubbi make a glass eye. Two small glass tubes, one held 
in each hand, are turned and twisted in a very hot flame. When 
at the proper temperature the operator blows into one of the 
tubes and forms a ball at the end the size of a plum, which 
ball is ultimately to be the eye. The other tube, which is of 
colored glass, is used in making the colored part of the eye. 



ITALIAN RAILROADS. — A FUNERAL. — GLASS EYES. 87 

It is heated to the correct temperature and incorporated in the 
ball of white glass at the spot where the pupil is to be. This 
done, and the white of the eye having assumed the proper 
creamy color, the delicate feat of making the veins is per- 
formed. In doing this, heated tubes of red streaked glass are 
drawn very deftly over the white surface, leaving tiny reddish 
streaks behind — the veins. 

** It is difficult to say how long it takes to make an eye," 
said Signore Rubbi. " That depends on what kind of an eye 
you are making. This lot of eyes here, for a hospital in Aus- 
tralia, is made in a short time. It need hardly be said that 
making a hospital eye is different from making an eye for a 
fashionable young lady. The one customer, so long as he has 
any resemblance at all to an eye in his head, is satisfied. His 
eye costs about two dollars. The fashionable young lady, how- 
ever, will probably have half a dozen eyes made before she is 
satisfied. Now it is the veins that are a little too red, now the 
pupil a trifle too small or too large. And," continued the 
signer, " it is odd that these fastidious people are more partic- 
ular with their night than with their day eyes." 

" Night and day eyes ? What do you mean ?" 

" Were you not aware that a different eye is worn for night? 
Certainly; the pupil is much smaller in daytime than at night, 
and your fashionable woman would not think of entering a 
ballroom with the pupils of her eyes of different sizes. When 
I receive orders from this class, I have to study the eye at all 
hours of the day and night. Very distant customers some- 
times have an artist paint a portrait of the eye, but that meth- 
od is not altogether satisfactory, and the rich customer gener- 
ally comes to have his eye personally examined." 

On the completion of an eye, before being wrapped in its 
soft bed of cotton, it is laid on a platter to cool. The first 
glimpse of a platter of eyes is startling. They seem so natural, 
look so like they had just jumped out of their owners' heads, 
that they cause an involuntary start of surprise.. 

The only horses in Venice are those in bronze over St. 



88 A TEAMP TRIP. 

Mark's. They were originally in Alexandria, whence they 
were brought to Rome by Augustus. Constantino trans- 
ferred them to Constantinople, where for many centuries they 
ornamented St. Sophia. The Doges drove them over to Ven- 
ice. Several centuries afterwards, when Napoleon began his 
celebrated feat of whipping all Europe, the French drove them 
over to Paris. There they remained until Napoleon went to 
St. Helena, then they came back to Venice again. Other trips 
these bronze horses have made, but they somehow always man- 
aged to trot or gallop or fly or swim back to Venice, where 
they are at the present day, perched upon St. Mark's — a stand- 
ing curiosity to people unaccustomed to regard horses in the 
light of church ornaments. 

The largest piece of land to be found in Venice is the Piaz- 
za of St. Mark, probably large enough to hold the Fifth Ave- 
nue Hotel. It is thronged every evening by thousands of people. 
A citizen may live several miles away, but when evening comes 
he jumps into his gondola and goes to St. Mark's Piazza to 
stare and to be stared at. Certainly many of the strollers one 
sees there are worth staring at ; specimens of so many nation- 
alities are not often seen elsewhere. Eastern races are well 
represented. I saw a Turk promenade every evening up and 
down the Piazza, smoking long cigarettes. His dress was of 
the brightest colors, his silk trousers were very baggy : they 
came only a little below the knee. His jacket of silk was so 
.scanty it hardly sufficed to cover his back. There were tassels 
on his shoes and on his turban. He was always alone, seemed 
to be objectless. I wondered what had brought him westward. 

Westward ? Venice west ! That sounds odd to American 
ears, yet relative to Stamboul or Damascus, Venice is in the 
*' far west." The first time I was in San Francisco I overheard 
a conversation in the hotel dining-room. 

*^ Well, Bill, good-by," said one man to another. " I shall not 
be East again for some time." 

It was my first trip west of the Rockies, and I naturally 
thought I was at the western limits. 



ITALIAN RAILROADS. — A FUNERAL. — GLASS EYES. 89 

^' Excuse me," said I to the stranger, " but did you remark 
that you were not coming East again ?" 

" I did. What of it r 

" Why, I wanted to know when were you East V^ 

" Wlien was I East? By the horned spoon, man, where do 
you call me now ?" 

The gentleman was from Ilonohilu. 

Before leaving Venice I visited the arsenal and looked at the 
mediaeval relics. The armor w^orn at Lepanto in 1571 by Sebas- 
tiano, Captain-generai of the Venetian Republic, is there, as is 
also his sword, with which he doubtless thumped many a hard- 
headed Turk. More interesting than Sebastiano's armor is that 
of Henry IV. of Navarre. Near by is his sw^ord and the iden- 
tical white plume which he bade his soldiers watch and follow 
into the thickest of the fight. The plume, discolored and torn 
by time and rough usage, w^as presented to Venice in 1603. 



90 A TRAMP TRIP. 



CHAPTER XI. 

THE STORY OF A RESTLESS TRAVELLER. — A PICKWICKIAN INCIDENT 
IN MILAN.— THE ROYAL FAMILY. —FARE WELL TO ITALY. 

En ROUTE from Venice to Milan I stopped in Padua. There 
is not much to see in Padua — only a few churches and a uni- 
versity — but I was interested in the place from its association 
with a very singular gentleman whose acquaintance I made sev- 
eral years ago when an attache in the office of a western news- 
paper. 

It was during the dull season, and I was lolling in an easy- 
chair, running over the morning issue of the paper, when there 
entered a gray-haired gentleman, spare and lean in figure, and 
his deep-set eyes nervous, restless, glancing quickly here and 
there, as if on the watch for some hidden enemy. 

" I wish to subscribe," he said. 

" Certainly,'' said I, arising. " What name, sir ?" 

" W. Keane King." 

"And the address?" 

"The address — the address?" repeated the man, with deep- 
set eyes, nervously — "the address? Well, send it to — to 
Padua." 

" To where ?" 

" To Pad — No, after all you may as well send it to Paris." 

" Paris, Tennessee, or Paris, Kentucky ?" 

** Paris what ?" exclaimed the gray-haired gentleman. " Why, 
Paris, France. That is my address — Rue St. Ilonore." 

It was not every day that we had subscribers from Padua and 
Paris, so I endeavored to draw the old gentleman into conver- 
sation. At first he was shy and cautious ; by degrees, however, 
he relaxed, and finally related something of his strange life. 



A KESTLESS TEAVELLER. — MILAN. — THE EOYAL FAMILY. 91 

*' My wife died many years ago," he said, *^ and since her 
death I have wandered from place to place, never pausing, nev- 
er resting. My headquarters are in Paris. There I keep my 
books and paintings and papers. Once a year I go there and, 
burying myself in my chambers, read in the papers that have 
accumulated the world's history for the past year. Then I re- 
sume my travels. I have apartments in every capital in Europe 
— in all I feel equally at home. I had expected to spend the 
winter in Padua, but now that I think of it, I shall go instead 
to Paris and Madrid. I start on my forty-ninth voyage across 
the Atlantic next Saturday." 

AVe sent the paper to the Rue St. Ilonore, Paris, as directed, 
and from time to time our singular subscriber sent me foreign 
journals, now from Spain, now from Russia, the next week per- 
haps from Turkey or Persia. A year or two passed, when one 
morning who should enter but Mr. W. Keane King, and as 
quietly and sedately as if he had been absent but a moment to 
step across the street. He renewed his subscription to the pa- 
per, this time directing it to be sent to Moscow, and was about 
to leave without further remark, when my brother, who, as it 
happened, had only returned that morning from a trip to Aus- 
traha, came into the office. I introduced him and mentioned 
the fact of his recent trip. 

'^AVhat, from Australia?" exclaimed Mr. King. *'Tell me 
something of that country. Singular," he added, musingly — 
^' singular I never thought of going there." 

My brother's account interested him. 

"You may send the paper to Sydney," he said. " I shall not 
go to Moscow." 

That was the last I ever saw of him. Our telegraph editor, 
v^ho knew the old gentleman — as did, indeed, every one in the 
office — showed me a few days later a despatch announcing his 
sudden death in Memphis, Tennessee. So far as I could learn, 
he died without heirs, and his books, art collections, etc., in the 
various States of Europe escheated to the respective govern- 
ments in which they were located. . 



92 A TRAMP TRIP. 

I was surprised on arriving in Milan to observe that that city 
had sidewaliis. Most Italian cities — Eonie and Naples, for in- 
stance — scarcely know what sidewalks are. Sometimes there is 
a miserable apology for a sidewalk, as that on the Corso, the 
chief street of Rome, but these are worse than none at all. 
They are so narrow that after falling off every yard or two the 
pedestrian finally quits in disgust and takes to the street, where 
there is a good chance of being run over, for vehicles are per- 
mitted to drive faster on streets with sidewalks than on streets 
without them. 

Another thing that lends to Milan an appearance of the nine- 
teenth century is the fact that the people are in a hurry. I 
don't mean, of course, in an American hurry, but in an Italian 
hurry. They move about rather briskly, not as in Venice and 
Naples, at the rate of an Alpine glacier, six thousand feet in 
forty-two years, but possibly at the rate of a mile an hour. 
They have also in Milan big shops with large windows, and 
goods tastefully exhibited therein — a thing unknown in the 
southern Italian cities, where the smallness of most of the busi- 
ness shops is astonishing. In Rome, for instance, the Fratelli 
Bocconi, the only firm that seem to have caught the modern 
style, have by far the largest dry-goods establishment in the 
city; yet their whole business occupies no more space than in 
America is sometimes occupied by the window displays of a 
dry-goods house. 

There is a great arch at the north-west gate of Milan com- 
memorating the completion of the Simplon road in 1806. An 
inscription records the fact that " the grand armies of Victor 
Emmanuel II. and Napoleon III. passed through this arch on the 
occasion of Italian Independence.'' On another side is, *' Na- 
poleon I., dedicated under his auspices, 1807." The arch is in 
the Roman style of architecture. Its statuary and reliefs re- 
semble the arches of Severus and Constantino in Rome. On 
the summit is a bronze chariot, drawn by six gigantic horses. 
In the chariot is an heroic figure, in bronze, curbing the steeds 
with one hand, and holding aloft a crown of laurel with the 



A RESTLESS TRAVELLER. — MILAN. THE ROYAL FAMILY. 93 

other. This great arc)], magnificent in design and execution, is 
a fit terminus for the splendid road across the Simplon. The 
rugged Alpine heights and precipices have been left behind, a 
short strip of the Lombardian plain has been traversed, and 
when the road reaches this arch it enters Milan, not as a wind- 
ing mountain-way, but as a broad and shaded avenue. 

The morning I returned from visiting this arch I had an ad- 
venture not unlike that experienced by the celebrated Mr. Pick- 
wick. My route back into the city lay across a large field half 
a mile square. The hour was nine in the morning, the place 
of my adventure was in the centre of that field. While stroll- 
ing leisurely along, the martial blasts of bugles suddenly broke 
upon my ears, and in a few minutes a line of about five thou- 
sand men appeared in sight marching towards me. 

"One man's convenience must give way to that of five thou- 
sand," said I to myself, and turned to retrace my steps and give 
them the right of way. To my surprise, I saw another body of 
five thousand men armed and marching upon me with a flour- 
ish of trumpets. Mr. Pickwick's adventure flashed upon my 
mind. I did not wish to be the target of ten thousand marks- 
men, even though blank cartridges were the ammunition ; so 
without losing a moment, I ran as fast as I could parallel with 
the two lines of soldiers, and in the direction of the other side 
of the square. I had a narrow escape. By the time I reached 
a place of safety, the two armies met in the shock of mimic 
battle. I concvratulated mvself that I was not flattened lifeless 
in the collision. 

That field is the manoeuvring ground of a corps of the 
Italian army. After the companies had well whipped each 
other in the sham battle, there was a grand review by a general 
from Rome. The columns passed by the cathedral, and as far 
as the eye could reach either way down the broad avenue there 
w^as a glittering array of bayonets, swords, and guns. The can- 
non, oflicers, and infantry were ail there. They were several 
hours passing a given point. This great military force is the 
force in one city only ; Rome, Naples, Genoa, etc., have their 



94 A TKAMP TRIP. 

army divisions also. The support of this groat army of non- 
producing men is the chief cause of the great poverty of the 
masses. For the good of the people, there are two hundred 
thousand too many soldiers in Italy. 

King Victor Emmanuel kept a stable of eight hundred blooded 
horses, and when he died he left debts to the amount of twen- 
ty-eight million lire. It was his playful custom to fall in love 
with other men's wives, pension the husbands, send them off 
on foreign missions, and make the wives his mistresses. These 
pensions and debts he left for his beloved people to pay. In 
token of their gratitude and appreciation, the aforesaid beloved 
people have given him a tomb in the Pantheon, and named 
lialf the squares and corsos in Italy in his honor. The present 
king is retrenching expenses. Humbert is called economical. 
He draws a salary of only three million dollars a year, and lives 
within its limits. The royal stables have been reduced to one 
hundred and fifty horses, and the harem of mistresses has been 
abolished altogether. 

King Humbert is a great improvement on his father. His 
personnel shows him to be a less coarse, less sensual man. His 
father had thick lips, and a nose that only escaped flatness by 
being snubbed and turned up in the last degree. King Humbert 
wears his hair combed back, stiff and erect — a singularly unbe- 
coming style. His mustache is very heavy, and stands out on 
each side straight and fierce like a stage pirate's. The prince 
of Naples is a small edition of his father — the same stiff, quill- 
looking hair, and a promise of the same piratical mustache. 

Queen Margherita — I fell in love with this truly royal wom- 
an ; royal, yet so amiable, so gracious. She looks the ideal 
queen. Tall, slender, graceful, lustrous black eyes, a pretty 
nose, beautiful hair. Queen Margherita is a splendid specimen 
of Italian beauty. I saw her and the Prince of Naples out 
driving one day in Eome. The admiring homage she received 
from her subjects as they doffed their hats and bov>^ed and 
smiled, seemed paid more to the w^oman than to the queen. 

In Bergamo I paid a visit to the palace and art collection of 



A EESTLESS TKAVELLER. — MILAN. — THE ROYAL FAMILY. 95 

Signore R . The gallery, composed of upward of forty 

halls and salons, possesses, besides many modern paintings, a 
large number of antique works by Vandyke, Rubens, and oth- 
ers. A Raphael representing the sacred family is the gem of 
the collection. The Virgin's expression is remarkably sweet, 
and the red of her lips and the delicate flesh colors are as beau- 
tiful as though painted yesterday. 

This painting has quite a history. During the Napoleonic 
wars, when the French were overrunning all Europe, and partic- 
ularly Lombardy, it was a difficult matter to keep valuable paint- 
ings. Napoleon took the best and sent them to Paris. When 
Milan was captured Bergamo fell also, and to prevent the seiz- 
ure of this work, another picture was painted over the divine 
faces Raphael had pictured. Of course such a daub was scorned 
and left by Napoleon's agents. The device was good, but it 
had a drawback ; in the painter's haste, no mark was left for 
the recognition of the work, and the result was, that upon the 
final expulsion of the French all the works of the gallery came 
to the owner again, but there w^as no means of knowing the 
Raphael. Not until 1868 did an accident reveal its identity. 
In that year the outer painting began to scale off, and thus the 
long-lost treasure was brought to light again. 

Petrarch's picture is more comical than poetical. His head 
is swathed in a red cloth ; only the face is visible ; on his chin 
grows a scanty beard of ten or twelve hairs, the longest about 
an inch in length. Laura's portrait seems like that of a lacka- 
daisical school-girl. I could not see in her face either beauty 
or intellect. 

I left the cool halls of this fifteenth-century palace to stroll 
through the hilly and winding streets of Bergamo. The town 
is situated on the side and summit of a hill, and from the 
castle on the top a fine view is obtained of the Alps on the 
one hand and the far-stretching plains of Lombardy oq the 
other. On a clear day the spires of the Milan Cathedral, thirty- 
nine miles away, can be distinguished. I stopped to inquire 
the way of a middle-aged lady. My inquiry led to a chat. 



96 A TRAMP TRIP. 

" You wish to get a view ?" she asked, with true Italian 
politeness. " Come with me. I will show you." 

I followed her through a garden — her own — to a point 
whence the view was indeed of unexampled loveliness. Below 
was the peaceful green valley, which looked as if only content 
and happiness should abide in it. Silently admiring the scene, 
I forgot my guide, and was reminded of her presence by a 
deep sigh. Turning to her quickly, I was struck by the ap- 
pealing wistfulness in the sad eyes which were fixed upon me. 
Without stopping to think of the impropriety of familiarity 
to this lady, a total stranger to me, I asked if I could serve 
her in any way. 

" You are an American, you say f 

" Yes — an American." 

" Well, I want you to tell me, have you seen my son ? He 
is in America. He went there ten years ago. I have not seen 
him since." 

This was pitiful. How few the chances that I had seen 
this poor mother's son among all the millions of America; yet 
I had not the heart to rudely tell her this. 

" What is your son's name ?" I asked, as gently as if I 
thought I might satisfy her yearning. 

"Luigi Mazonni. He is in Paraguay." 

Paraguay ! I disliked to explain to her how great the dis- 
tance between Paraguay and the land of my birth. I thought 
it would only increase her vague ideas of the dangers of her 
son's whereabouts. I merely told her I was sorry I had not 
seen her son — sorry that I could give no good news of him. 

And now I bid adieu to Italy, the land of romance, the land 
of beautiful women — Italy the land of — macaroni! Her art 
stores, her palaces, her antiquities, all afford the traveller in- 
terest and instruction, but nothing, not even the treasures of 
Pompeii, the ruins of ancient Eome, nor the romance of 
Venice, gave me so much enjoyment as did the study of the 
peasants and the people. Amid the greatest hardships and 



A RESTLESS TRAVELLER. — MILAT^. THE ROYAL FAMILY. 97 

poverty, I found the Italian people ever gay and happy. 
Neither the hovels of Naples, nor the malaria of the marshes, 
nor the cold winds of the Apennines, seem able to repress the 
irrepressible gayety of this happy race. Their country, a land 
hoary with age and antiquities, is an ever-present reminder of 
the shortness of human life, of the vanity of all things human. 

Accustomed to seeing the Forum where Julius Csesar ex- 
pired, or wagon ruts made in Pompeii twenty centuries ago, 
the Italian looks upon Time with different eyes and different 
feelinofs from the American who thinks of Washino'ton as al- 
most as remote in the past as Caesar ; and of the discovery of 
his country as a thing almost prehistoric. 

The longest period of life — one hundred years — seems very 
short in Italy. The Italian deems it wise to make the best of 
his little day while it lasts, leaving the future to take care of 
itself. To him, perhaps, as well as to the stranger viewing 
this land of past peoples, do the lines of the poet* recur: 

*' From cradle to coffin we struggle and seek, 
Till the fugitive years of our lives are past, 
But whether our lots be blessed or bleak, 

We are tossed like dogs to the worms at last. 

** What is the use of it, then, I say ? 

Why are we brought from the blank unknown, 
To weep and dance through a little day 
That drifts us under a burial stone ?" 

* Will H. Kernan. 



98 A TKAMP TRIP. 



CHAPTER XII. 

ODD COMPANIONS.— AN ENTHUSIASTIC ITALIAN. — THE PROFESSOK. 
— CLIMBING THE ALPS. — THE SIMPLON PASS. — AN ENGLISH GIRL 
GIVES ME ALMS. — DIFFERENT SORTS OF TOURISTS I GERMAN, 
FRENCH, ENGLISH. 

Not the least enjoyable feature about travel is the opportu- 
nity afforded of observing odd and interesting characters. On 
the Independente one evening, while standing on deck watching 
the setting sun, a black-mustached, dark-skinned Italian, who 
knew I was an American, and who was filled with patriotic 
desire to show up the superior attractions of his own hemi- 
sphere, pulled me by the sleeve. 

" Dio mio !" he cried, with enthusiasm. " What you see 
in America like that? What you think? W^hat you want? 
Where you see sunset like that ?" 

" Nowhere, signore," I gravely replied. *^ There is nothing 
in America like tliat." 

" What ! you like that ?" he burst out, exultantl}^, shaking 
his finger at me. " Ah, you wait ; that is no-thing. Wait till 
the Mediterranean ; there I show you some-thiug !" 

In Genoa this patriotic Italian went with me to the Church 
of San Lorenzo. 

*' Dio mio ! what you think? what you want ?" he exclaimed, 
as we gazed at the gilded columns. " What you see in Amer- 
ica like that— eh ?— eh V 

*' Nothing, signore. We have no church like that." 

*' Ah!" with a sigh of extreme satisfaction — *^ ah, you wait; 
this is no-thing. I bring you to Naples; thei^e I show you 
.*?(??ne-thing." 

In Naples my Italian went through a similar performance. 
Whatever I saw to admire, although far excelling anything 



ODD COMPANIONS. — CLIMBING THE ALPS. — TOURISTS. 99 

I bad left beliind, was nothing to the glories I would sec at 
some other Italian place. 

There sat opposite me one day in a Milan milkery a young 
man who, like myself, was making a frugal breakfast of bread 
and milk. From his appearance I judged he w^as an American. 
He had an amiable, kind face, so I ventured to open a conver- 
sation. 

"Fine weather," was my original and brilliant remark. 
Slowly turning his eyes upon me — they had an abstracted, far- 
away look — he gravely asked if I had given much thought as 
to the ultimate end of man ? I confessed I had not. 

'* Man's end is only a question of time. You must know,'* 
he went on, after gulping down the last drop of milk in his 
glass — "you must know his end is only a question of time. I 
have been turning over in my mind what it is that will end 
him. What do you think of freezing ?" 

"A very good way, if it must be done; but I hope it may 
be put off as long as possible." 

"It won't be done in our time." 

" I am glad to hear it. I like warmth." 

" Oh, it will come on so slowly we will hardly know what it 
is that is killing us. Scientists predict a return of the glacial 
period." 

This young man was not at all a lunatic, although at that 
first meeting I took him to be one. He was only a little ec- 
centric. That meeting was the beginning of a companionship 
I found very pleasant. I dubbed him " Professor." We trav- 
elled together through Switzerland on foot. 

Eivo is a small hamlet one thousand feet above Lake Como. 
The Professor and I climbed up to Rivo, there to pass the 
night, and in the morning begin with fresh strength the ascent 
of Mount Generoso, some four thousand feet above Rivo. Few 
travellers pass this way. We were objects of curiosity ; the 
women in Rivo stood in their doors and stared at us. Going 
up to an elderly dame, we asked if she could lodge us. 

"Wait; I will ask my mother," said the old lady. 



100 A TRAMP TSIP. 

Her mother ! She looked like a grandmother herself. Back 
she trotted, and behind her trotted a still older woman, who 
peered at us keenly from under her shaggy old eyebrows, and 
agreed to lodge us and give us a supper of bread and milk — 
all she had. The younger w^oraan had never married, and still 
maintained the habit of filial obedience, although she looked 
sixty or seventy years old. 

We began the climb next morning at daybreak, in a mist of 
fo2: and cloud. When at an elevation of some three thousand 
feet, we heard a voice shouting from the other side of the deep 
ravine. We dimly discerned through the mist a man gesticu- 
lating violentl3^ 

" We must be on the wrong track," I said to the Professor; 
^^ that man thinks we are in danger." 

Not the least discomposed, the Professor coolly took out his 
guide-books and maps. But I was afraid to trust a dreamer 
as guide on the top of a mist-covered mountain with deep ra- 
vines and precipices, where one might stumble without a min- 
ute's warning. I had more faith in the peasant, who continued 
to shout and wave his hands warningly. Without more ado, 
I called the Professor to follow, and began to jump from stone 
to stone alono' the sides of the ravine. Fifteen minutes brouo:ht 
US to the peasant, who, as I expected, said we were following 
the wrong path, and pointed out the right. I gave him a few 
cents for his kindness, and we walked on. The Professor 
smiled on me Vv^ith grave pity. 

"My friend," he said, *'you think that innocent peasant 
wanted to show you the right way ? All he wanted v/as a fee, 
in return for w^hich he has shown you the wrong way. The 
Swiss peasant resents a tourist's mountaineering without a guide, 
lie feels at liberty to humbug travellers if he can." 

Refusing to believe that simple-hearted man capable of such 
a trick, I pursued the path he pointed out, in full confidence 
that the Professor was mistaken. 

" I don't mind the extra walk," said the Professor. " It is 
a delightful morning, and we have plenty of time." And so 



ODD COMPANIOJS'S. — CLIMBING THE ALPS. — TOUBISTS. 101 

we kept on, until the path wound around the ravine and began 
a plain and rapid descent. 

" Now," said tlie Professor, " you see this path leads to the 
base, not to the summit of the mountain." 

I saw. 

** There is nothing left but to retrace our steps, or to pitch 
out through the woods and find the summit for ourselves." 

It was my turn to follow, so we planged into the wet brush- 
wood and pushed on. Emerging from the wood, with some 
consternation we saw ourselves confronted by a great green 
wall nine hundred feet high. It seemed hardly possible that 
we could climb this grassy, slippery ascent. 

"At the worst, we can slide dovvu if we fail to climb," said 
the Professor. 

The grass was wet, but fortunately was strong. When our 
foothold gave way, we wound our hands in the long blades of 
grass, and lay flat on our faces to rest and recover exhausted 
strength. The Professor had spoken cheerfully of sliding down, 
but I did not fancy the idea; a nine hundred foot slide down 
a steep, almost perpendicular, mountain-slope is no light matter. 
My hair almost stood on end whenever, as several times hap- 
pened, the grass came up by the roots, and I felt myself slip- 
ping down. AVhen at length we reached the end of the slope, 
we were covered from head to foot with a greenish slime. And 
what was the reward of this fatigue and peril ? A view about 
ten yards in diameter! — ten yards and no more; for the mist 
in which we had been enveloped for the last two hours still 
remained, cutting off the magnificent panorama of the Alps 
and the Italian plains that is to be seen from this lofty height 
on a clear, sunshiny da3\ 

Stufiing his guide-books in his capacious pockets, the Pro- 
fessor produced a bottle of ink, a pen, and a diary, and began 
to write. Looking over his shoulder, I read : 

"June 1st, 11.31 a.m. I write this in a cloud on the sum- 
mit of Mount Generoso, 653 1-| feet above the sea." 

That was the Professor, exact to the half inch. If you 



102 A TKAMP TKIP. 

mention Tiberius, the monster who nineteen centuries ago hor- 
rified mankind by his atrocious deeds, the Professor v/ill cor- 
rect you and say that it is not nineteen centuries, but eighteen 
centuries and sixty-five years. He is unhappy unless exact. 
When I pointed out a rock affording a slight pre-eminence 
above the spot upon which he was writing, he stuffed his ink- 
bottle and diary back in his pocket and resumed his writing- 
only after he had scaled the rock, and was literally and exactly 
on the very summit of the mountain, 6531-| feet above the 
level of the sea. 

When we passed through Morragio that afternoon after de- 
scending Mount Generoso, I stopped at the village shoemaker's 
to have repaired a slight rent in my knapsack. From sad ex- 
perience, I had learned to be cautious in all pecuniary dealings ; 
so, before letting him have the sack, I asked, " Quanto " (how 
much?). 

^^Oh," replied the shoemaker, smiling, "meno di cento lire" 
(less than a hundred lire). 

"But how much less?'' 

"Think not, signorc, that I cheat you. Meno di cento 
lire." 

" True," I thought, " in so small a matter there is no room 
for extortion," and so handed liim the sack. In twenty min- 
utes the rent was repaired. 

" Quanto ?" (how much ?), I asked. 

The shoemaker, no longer the smiling, obsequious man of 
half an hour before, but now an arrogant, insolent churl, de- 
manded four lire — eighty cents. In those parts a shoemaker's 
wages for a whole day amount to less than half that sum. 

" Let me see if it is all right," I said, taking the knapsack 
and looking it over. Then, in a casual .way, I put it over my 
shoulder. After strapping it securely, I took out of my pocket 
one lira, three times as much as he deserved. 

" This," said I, " is all I shall pay you. Will you take it?" 

Refusing, I flung the coin on his bench. The shoemaker 
boiled with raoce, and made as if he meant to come at me. 



ODD COMPANIONS. — CLIMBING THE ALPS. — TOURISTS. 103 

** Stand back!" I cried, flourishing my Lcavy mountain staff 
. — *^ stand back ! If you touch me I will club you." 

As I backed out of his alley, still flourishing my club, the 
friendly shoemaker informed me that I was a thief, a murderer, 
and, worst of all, a brute and an anti-Christ. 

To reach the Simplon road we struck across the country 
from Mount Generoso, and there took the boat for Pallanza. It 
is very pleasant on the Swiss and Italian lakes. The scenery is 
sublime, the waters of the lakes look cool and inviting. The 
situation would be perfect but for one thing — the impertinent 
interference of man. The lakes are on the frontier ; the land- 
ings are now in Italy, now in Switzerland ; and just as the trav- 
eller begins to fairly appreciate the beauties of nature that sur- 
round him, he is tapped on the shoulder by a man brilliant 
with gold braiding and brass buttons and sword. It matters 
not whether you mean to land or remain on the boat, this gor- 
geous individual in brass buttons is the customs officer, and he 
goes through your knapsack as if expecting to find stolen dia- 
monds. These frequent examinations are annoying. I was 
glad when Pallanza was reached, and the foot trip over the 
Simplon begun. 

As night drew on we met the peasants returning from the 
fields loaded with hay. The women, harnessed to wagons like 
mules or oxen, drew great loads that in New York Bergh would 
not allow a horse to draw. It was a relief to turn the gaze 
from these poor, overworked creatures to the beauties of nat- 
ure — to the crystal stream that flowed by the side of the road, 
to the walls of the ravine that come nearer and nearer together 
as the road winds upward, to the bonfires that blazed on a doz- 
en cliffs and peaks lighted by woodsmen, who, although tho 
month was June, had in their lofty huts the cold of December. 

It was ten o'clock at nio-ht when we climbed into the villao-e 
of Vogogno, where a strange scene met our gaze. The Piazza 
of the town was dimly lighted with oil lamps, a rude trapezo 
and turning pole was erected in the centre, and a man and hi:^ 
wife and two sons were giving an acrobatic performance. Tho 



104 A TRA^IP TRIP. 

whole village was there en masse, and the simple feats of the 
acrobats were applauded with a gusto that the professionals of 
Barnum's shows rarely receive, or at any rate rarely merit. 
This circle of happy but dirty faces seen by the flickering light 
was pleasant and picturesque. I listened to the usual conun- 
drums, dressed up in Italian, which the wife, who played ring- 
master, propounded to her husband, the clown. Then when 
the drums ceased beating, and the lights were put out, and the 
people gone, I followed the mountebanks to their wagon, and 
drew them into a short chat. 

*' We don't get rich," laughed the wife, " but it is a free and 
easy life, and we like it. We have always enough to cat. 
Everybody gives his soldo. The villages are not far apart. 
We exhibit every night. By five o'clock in the morning we 
will be on the road, and early in the afternoon at our destination. 
W"e get there early that we may rest before the performance." 

An American circus, with its " aggregation of conglomerated 
wonders," takes in thousands of dollars a day. This modest 
Swiss-Italian affair is content with fifteen lire — not quite three 
dollars. Often it does not make that. 

Five o'clock next morning found me up. I was rewarded 
for my early rising by seeing the stage from Brieg drive up 
with a grand flourish. The only passengers were an English- 
man and his daughter. The Englishman remained sitting, but 
the young lady descended and entered the hotel to get a cup of 
coffee. She was the first English-speaking maiden I had seen 
for some time ; moreover, she was very pretty, and when, on 
her return, she experienced a slight difficulty in climbing the 
stage steps, I sprang gallantly forward and assisted her. I 
forgot that I was a *' tramp " — a working-man, not a gentle- 
man. 

" Thank you, my good man," she said, in tolerable Italian, 
handing me a copper coin ; then to her father, ia English, " I 
suppose one must give money if one is only looked at by these 
poor Italians." 

There was a genuine lout of a peasant lounging at the door, 



ODD C0MI>ANI0NS. — CLIMBING THE ALPS. — TOURISTS. 105 

who of coarse did not understand a word of English ; never- 
theless, I addressed him in my best mother tongue, at the same 
time tossing him two coppers. 

" The signorina wishes you to drink her health, and you may 
also drink mine." 

The face of that young girl was a study. It turned pale, 
then red. I bowed and walked off, leaving both father and 
daughter in a curious state of perplexity. 

Many articles which in America are made of wood, in Italy 
are made of stone. Benches, roofs, floors, tables are often of 
stone ; not, however, until I tramped over the Siuiplon did I 
see telegraph-poles of stone ! Wood in this particular region 
is comparatively abundant. Perhaps stone is used on account 
of its superior durability. A stone telegraph-pole certainly has 
excellent lasting properties. 

After leaving Vogogno the scenery grows grander and wilder. 
The road winds along on the side of a foaming mountain tor- 
rent called the Tosa ; the pretty town of Domo d'Osola, the last 
Italian town, is passed. At Crevola the valley abruptly ends, and 
the ascent of the Simplon begins through tunnels and ledges 
that have been blasted in the solid rock. At noon, under the 
shadows of the overhanging precipices, we ate our bread-and- 
cheese luncheon ; wild strawberries that grew in abundance 
along the steep mountain's sides made our dessert. How we en- 
joyed that frugal meal ! Stretched on our backs, our heads 
resting on our knapsacks, we feasted on the beautiful red ber- 
ries, and our eyes feasted on the scenery. There were the giant 
pines of the forest, and the great gray cliffs that hemmed us 
in, thousands of feet high, on every side. In contrast to all 
this was the huge wall of an avalanche a few hundred yards 
up the road from our resting-place. A tunnel was cut through 
the huge mass of snow for the passage of vehicles and pedes- 
trians ; but fired with the true mountaineer spirit, the Profess- 
or and I determined to climb over the avalanche. Some dis- 
tance up men were digging out a buried hut. When about half 
way to them the Professor slipped, and came near sliding down 
5* 



106 A TRAMP TRIP. 

over the tunnel into the gorge below. This seemed to dispirit 
him, and I sought to cheer him with stories of real Alpine 
disasters. 

" There is Lord Douglass," I said, *' who slipped down a high 
avalanche and fell three thousand feet. If you were to fall and 
slide down this avalanche you would at most go only five hun- 
dred or a thousand feet — a mere bagatelle compared with Lord 
Douglass's fall." 

The Professor's perceptions were quick. Seeing the truth of 
my remarl?, he resumed his staff and continued the climb. Af- 
terwards we walked through the tunnel. The Professor brought 
out liis note-book again. 

"I write this," he wrote, "June 3d, at 12.31 p.m., on the 
Simplon road, under a tunnel of snow." 

Having thus recorded liis original ideas, w^e proceeded on our 
way. As we went, an alarming change came over the Profess- 
or's face. First I observed a black spot under his right eye, 
then another black spot appeared on the end of his nose, then 
the spots seemed to break out thickly all over the visible parts 
of his person. Every time 1 looked at him there was a new 
spot. A dreadful suspicion of congestion or plague darted on 
my mind. I asked the Professor if he felt ill I 

" 111 ? Not at all ; never felt better in my life." 

" Then why are you breaking out as if you had the black 
plague ?" 

The Professor turned pale. Hastily pulling out his pocket- 
mirror he surveyed himself anxiously. 

"What in the d — I is the matter?" he exclaimed; then, sud- 
denly, a flood of inspiration breaking upon him, " I know. It is 
my ink!" 

So, indeed, it was. lie had fastened his bottle insecurely, and 
the ink had been steadily dripping out. Every time he put his 
hand in his pocket it became smirched, and every time he put 
his hand to his face that became smirched. Thus it was he 
looked so black and plague-stricken. At the first stream the 
Professor undressed and took a bath. His iinderclothinnr was 



ODD COMPANIONS. — CLIMBING THE ALPS. — TOURISTS. 107 

dripping with ink, and the stain on his body and face made 
him look like a kind of two-legged zebra. 

Many English and American tourists see all the sights in a 
perfunctory way, as if sent by a task -master and bound to get 
through in a certain time. I saw an Englishman in Santa 
Croce, Florence, who almost ran through the galleries and halls. 
In the quarter of an hour I spent examining a single fresco — 
it was worth more time — he had stuck his nose into the cell of 
every monk, glanced at Savonarola's cowl and beads, and hur- 
ried out to " do '' some other show^-place of the city, probably 
so as to see Rome the next day, and leave for London the day 
after. Conversing with one of these lightning travellers, he 
said, 

*'0h yes, I was in Florence a day. Saw all the sights — San- 
ta Croce, and all the rest." 

These tourists, however, are a blessing to the countries they 
rush through. They pay hotel bills and guides, and buy views, 
but it is difficult to see wherein they benefit themselves. The 
Germ.an tourist is at the other extreme. Precise, methodical, 
the German marks off the sights in his guide-book as he would 
check off a consignment of goods. He feels no emotion, no 
sentiment, no romance ; he looks on the antiquities of Naples 
and Rome as he would look on the ruins of a house of yester- 
day, lie is only careful to check off what he sees, that he may 
not mistake and waste time over the same sight again. The 
Frenchman flies rapidly from one point to another, obtiiins a 
superficial knowledge of everything, and in after-conversation 
makes a better and more brilliant display than the German, 
who is slow, yet really knows twice as much of the subject. 

To an American accustomed in his own country to one lan- 
guage through an extent of four thousand miles, the variety of 
languages in Europe is a matter of curious interest. It is 
doubly so to the pedestrian, who is able to note the minutest 
changes. The traveller wlro is whisked by train from Milan 
to Paris or Vienna only knows that whereas yesterday it was 
Italian, to-day it is French or German. The pedestrian cross- 



108 A TRAMP TRIP. 

ing the frontier can note the gradual change, the dovetailing, 
so to speak, of one tongue with another. In a three days' walk 
I encountered all shades of the three languages, French, Ger- 
man, and Italian. 

At Simplon, the last town before reaching the Pass, we got 
a luncheon of milk and honey and black bread, and then pushed 
rapidly on. The wind was biting, the air was thin and keen. 
We kept warm only by the most vigorous walking. For twen- 
ty minutes the road runs through the Pass, neither descending 
nor ascending ; then this level stretch passed, I noticed the drip- 
pings from the snow-banks had changed their course ; a little 
more and we passed through a tunnel, over the roof of which a 
foaming torrent leaped, precipitating itself into the valley ; 
then the long and winding descent began. The distance to 
Brieg, measured in miles, is a full day's journey, but it is all 
down hill ; we made it in four hours. 

We did it by running two-thirds of the way. 



MUSICAL SURPEISES. — GLACIERS AND AVALANCHES. 109 



CHAPTER XIII. 

A TWO- CENT TRICK. — MUSICAL SURPRISES IN GENEVA. —BOGUS HIS- 
TORICAL RELICS. — ADVENTURES ON GLACIERS AND AVALANCHES. 
— PEASANT LIFE IN SWITZERLAND. 

Geneva is very appropriately called le petit Paris — the little 
Paris. It is full of Parisians, and French is the language spo- 
ken. It is, in fact, a kind of lounging-place for Parisians, who 
jump on the cars and go there to rest and enjoy the cool 
breezes of Leman Lake. In the evening the Rue de Rhone 
is brilliant with a long line of lights. Almost every shop is a 
cafe, where bands of music — usually women musicians — play, 
attracting large crowds, who sit on the pavement and sip ver- 
mouth and listen to the music, the effect of which is not a 
little heightened by the surroundings — the rippling waters of 
the Rhone a few yards away, and beyond the clear waters of 
the lake shinino: like a silver mirror in the lioht of the moon. 
The music at one cafe no sooner ceases than the fiddles and 
harps of the next one take up the strain ; the music sways 
from one end of the line to the other, and then back again. 
Fashionable people dash up in their carriages, newly married 
couples ride up on their '^ sociable " tricycles, and nine o'clock 
in the evening finds this brilliant avenue almost blocked with 
a crowd composed of all nationalities. One-third of the seven- 
ty-five thousand people in Geneva are foreigners. 

I was interested in the Geneva Art Gallery, not on account of 
the paintings, but from the fact that the floor was of wood. It 
was the first wood floor I had seen in Europe. In art galleries 
it is forbidden to carry a cane or umbrella. Those articles 
must be deposited with the custodian, who, of course, expects 
a fee for his trouble. In Geneva I saw a man who avoided 
this regulation in an odd way. While I was looking at a 



110 A TKAMP TRIP. 

statue of Eousseau, the custodian came running in after a man 
who had entered without depositing his cane. 

*' Don't you see I am lame?" said the man, in a reproachful 
tone. 

The custodian looked. Sure enough, the gentleman was 
limping — badly too. Of course a lame man could not be de- 
prived of his staff, and the custodian left without the cane and 
without his fee. Then there was a transformation. The 
" lame " man winked at me, his limping ceased, and he walked 
as straight as a major ! That was a small trick to save a two- 
cent fee. In America we do not know how to save two cents. 
The average American is not up to two -cent economy. In 
Europe it is a matter of importance with the great body of 
the people. Housewives in Geneva buy ham, beefsteak, chick- 
ens, bread, soup, vegetables — everything ready cooked. In Italy 
the house -keeper buys the raw material, and carries it to a 
public " cookery," where a beefsteak or roast is cooked in the 
shortest possible time for a mere trifle of money. An Euro- 
pean with an income of five thousand dollars does not live in 
a house detached from others, with lawn around it and plenty 
of fresh air. He lives in a flat, with stores underneath him, 
and above him a shoemaker or tailor shop, or perhaps even 
worse — revelling students and their mistresses. In Geneva I 
heard of several instances of this kind, the first floors of a 
fl^it being occupied by respectable, well-to-do merchants, and 
the top flat by carousing students. One can image the rencon- 
tres to which, under such circumstances, the pretty daughter of 
the merchant, or lawyer, or doctor on the first floor may be 
subjected. 

Geneva is a great centre for music-boxes. Their manufacture 
is the chief industry of the place, affording employment to 
thousands of men, women, and children. I visited one of the 
largest factories. 

" Take a seat," said the polite attendant. I did so. In- 
stantly there were strains of delightful music. The chair was 
a music-box. 



MUSICAL SURPRISES. — GLACIERS AND AVALANCHES. Ill 

** And now," continued the attendant, " if you will leave your 
cane and bat here, I will take you through the workrooms." 

I hung' my hat on the rack and put my staff in the stand. 
Music began to issue from the hat and from the stand. After- 
wards, in writing my name in the visitor's register, I dipped 
the pen in the ink. Music burst forth from the inkstand. If 
you sat down, the chair made music. I thought myself trans- 
ported to fairy-land. 

" Music - box making," s^iid Mr. Conchon, of the " Star 
Works," " is a business that requires the utmost patience and 
nicety. The different parts are made by men, who become 
experts in those parts, and in those parts only. After the 
rough cylinder is made, the music is marked thereon by a 
man who has served years of apprenticeship. In every mark 
made by this man a peg is put by another man. That is the 
sole business of one set of men — putting pegs in their places. 
A fourth set of men file the pegs to a uniform length. The 
comb or set of teeth which strikes the pegs and makes the 
sound is now arranged, and the cylinder revolved to see that 
every peg produces a proper tone. Then comes the most deli- 
cate work of all. Each peg is revised by a workman whose 
ear for music must be good, and who must see that each note 
is in its proper place, and that each peg is bent at the proper 
angle. The parts polished, the springs arranged, and the in- 
strument in its case, all is then finally examined by an expert, 
to see that the movement is good and the time perfect. The 
music-box is then complete, ready for sale." 

I inquired of Mr. Conchon how much his me.n received. 

'^ Oh, very good wages indeed," was the reply. " Many of 
the men average five francs ($1.00) a day." 

Observing that I evinced no surprise at the vastness of the 
sum, he added, 

"But there are some who earn eight and even nine francs a 
day. Those who mark the cylinders and adjust the pegs have 
to serve an apprenticeship of ten or twelve years, and they make 
fully nine francs a day." 



112 A TRAMP TRIP. 

An average of one dollar a day for the nicest, the most deli- 
cate mechanical work known? My protectionist friends had 
told me that tariffs make wages high. Wages were not high 
in Switzerland. I began to think I had stumbled on a free- 
trade country. I was mistaken. Investigation revealed the 
fact that almost everything worth mentioning is subject to an 
import duty at the Swiss frontier. True, ice is excepted. Switz- 
erland, with its glaciers, its mountains of eternal snow, has a 
corner in the ice market. She generously permits her citizens to 
keep cool without being taxed for the privilege. Glass, cloth- 
ing, perfumery, ironware, farming utensils are all heavily " pro- 
tected." The tax on locomotives is one dollar and ninety-three 
cents for every two hundred and twenty pounds' weight. Esti- 
mating the weight of a locomotive at thirty tons, the tax on one 
locomotive would amount to about six hundred dollars. The 
tariff on asses is low, only nineteen cents per ass, big or little. 
The protectionists were evidently afraid to impose too high a 
duty on asses; without "asses" it would be impossible to pass 
a tariff bill for protective purposes. 

When I went by steamer to Lausanne, I put up for the first 
time in Europe at a first-class hotel. I did this for two rea- 
sons: first, I was curious to know how a fashionable European 
hotel is conducted; second, at this place in Lausanne Gibbon 
wrote the concluding chapters of his great history. 

"On a table in the garden in the rear of the hotel," says 
Baedeker, "he finished the last lines of the last chapter one 
niojht at eleven o'clock one hundred years ao-o." 

I like and admire Gibbon ; so on reading those lines in the 
guide-book I made up my mind to stop at that hotel and write 
a letter on the very table that Gibbon wrote upon, and at which, 
as he tells us in his autobiography, he sat sadly until after mid- 
night reflecting that, his history done, like Othello his occupa- 
tion was gone ; he saw nothing in the future to do. I wrote 
a letter from " the table in the garden," and am bound to say 
I received no inspiration. The fact is, the "table in the gar- 
den" is a fraud, so is the Hotel Gibbon. The house in which 



MUSICAL SURPRISES. — GLACIERS AND AVALANCHES. 113 

Gibbon lived was torn down eighty years ago, and the present 
building was not erected until 1825. As for the table, it is 
comparatively new. The very garden is new, having been filled 
up to a depth of twelve feet since the time of Gibbon. The 
flashy waiters, and formal table-d'hote dinners, and bogus Gib- 
bon relics were too much for me. I left the Hotel Gibbon and 
walked down to the Castle of Chillon. There I looked at some 
more bogus historical relics: the names of Byron, Hugo, Eu- 
gene Sue, and other celebrated men carved on the pillars of the 
dungeon. There were also the names of Tom Jones, John 
Smith, and others of those families. Their genuineness I did 
not doubt. In the dungeons of the Doges at Venice a cell is 
shown where Byron had himself shut up for twenty-six hours. 
I can believe this. In a prison the great poet no doubt was 
able more vividly to feel as a prisoner would; but to stand on 
a stool and carve one's name on a stone wall could bring no in- 
spiration. It is not probable that Byron, or Victor Hugo, or 
men of that stamp, would commit such petty folly. 

Trees line the edge of the lake at Chillon. Under their 
friendly shade, and the shade of the old castle's walls, we took 
a plunge in the cool waters, and then set out for a pedestrian 
trip to the mountain passes of the interior. On the walk from 
Martigny to Chamounix I made this note : 

"Peasant girl offers flowers — we run — she runs — being 
swiftest footed, we escape." 

The first time a bright, pretty girl comes at a fellow and 
offers him flowers, he accepts with pleasure and pays willingly. 
But after the fortieth, or four hundred and fortieth time, it 
becomes monotonous, and he dodges or runs. Unless he is a 
Vanderbilt, he thinks of his purse, and if the bright-eyed girl 
persists in following him a mile or two, arms out-stretched, all 
the while offering flowers, it rather makes a fellow feel that life 
is a burden. It always hurts one's heart to refuse beauty a few 
coins. The moment the Professor and T saw a girl a little ahead 
of us with flowers Ave broke into a run and shot by her like 
a flash, leaving the poor girl to suppose we were escaped luna- 



114 A TRAMP TRIP. 

tics or hunted brigands, or anything her imagination might sug- 
gest; but our coppers were saved and we went our way rejoic- 
ing. In Italy there was no necessity for this artifice. Walking 
in Italy is so unusual that a man on foot is supposed to be too 
poor to indulge in wild flowers. In Switzerland pedestrianism 
is the fashion with rich and poor. The foot-traveller with knap- 
sack and dusty garb is as often the subject of importunities of 
beggars, guides, and flower-girls as the tourists in carriages. 
We spent the night in a small chalet in the Tete Noir, and 
early next morning set out for Chamounix, not around the 
mountains by the broad road, as less ambitious (and less fool- 
hardy) travellers would have done, but over the mountains by 
way of the Pass of the Col de Balm. In other words, though 
there is a perfectly plain road from the valley of the Tete Noir 
to Chamounix, we went by an unfrequented way over a mount- 
ain half as high as Mont Blanc, and that seemed to be covered 
with as much snow as the monarch of mountains itself. 

The peasant with whom we stayed said a guide was necessa- 
ry; but as guides in those regions charge twenty or twenty-five 
dollars, we set out alone. The snow covered the steep side of 
the mountain in vast drifts. There were places where to have 
lost our holds would have sent us sliding down the slippery in- 
clined plane thousands of feet. Indeed, at several points the 
frozen crust did give way, or rather became dislodged from the 
general mass, but by thrusting our poles deep in the snow, and 
remaining perfectly quiet, serious results were avoided, and the 
sliding confined to at most thirty or forty feet. Especially was 
this danger present in crossing the glacier of the Tete Noir. 
The ice of the glacier is far more solid and slippery than the 
crust of an avalanche. A slip on a glacier almost always means 
death. There are great fathomless chasms in the ice ; his foot- 
ing once lost, the unfortunate traveller slides down with increas- 
ing velocity until he enters one of those dreadful chasms and 
disappears from sight forever. 

The ascent occupied the greater part of the day. From the 
summit we saw Mont Blanc's snow-covered cliffs and peaks tow- 



MUSICAL SURPRISES. — GLACIERS AKD AVALANCHES. 115 

ering np into the clouds; thousands of feet below was the smil- 
ing valley of Chauiounix. The sun was on his downward course. 
The prospect of a nocturnal tramp over that vast expanse of 
snow and icy marsh was anything but cheering. The Professor 
proposed that we should follow the snow^-drippings. 

" Water," he wisely remarked, "always pursues the most di- 
rect route. If we attempt to cross those snow-fields we will 
freeze stiff before we reach Chamounix." 

The latter part of his proposition I could readily believe, the 
former I received with some doubt. 

" Water can go where we cannot — over a precipice, for in- 
stance, or under a rock." 

With the confidence of a scientist the Professor overbore 
my objections, and we began to descend the ravine following 
the watercourse. This ravine is formed by the steep sloping 
mountains, towering on each side, from two to three thousand 
feet high. The two sides come together at a sharp angle. The 
water that rushes down between them fills the entire space, leav- 
ing only the rocks and bowlders upon which to pick a way. 
This impetuous torrent that leaps and bounds from bowlder to 
bowlder in the deep ravine of the Col de Balm is the beginning 
of the river Arve, which at Geneva, where it empties into the 
lake, seems so placid and still. 

For an hour no absolutely insurmountable obstacle was encoun- 
tered ; the Professor was about to congratulate himself on the 
success of his " direct water-route," when a bend in the gulch 
revealed a fall, a sudden descent where the water leaped not less 
than thirty feet. We had descended fully one thousand five 
hundred feet ; to retrace our steps the Professor declared out of 
the question. 

" To go back to the summit and cross the avalanches in the 
night will be fatal," he said. 

"But what is there to do?" 

The Professor critically surveyed the situation. 

"/am going down right here," he said. 

It looked like madness; nevertheless, he actually began to 



116 A TRAMP TRIP. 

climb down that water-fall ! I held my breath as I watched the 
feat. The walls of the ravine or gorge at this point are almost 
perpendicular, and not more than three feet apart. Stretching 
his legs between the walls, the Professor began letting himself 
down a foot or two beyond the dash of the water, as a skilful 
workman goes down a well, supporting the w^eight of his body 
by the pressure of the hands and feet on each side of the wall. 
For some distance beyond the actual dash of tlie w^ater the walls 
were wet with spray. The sides were slippery ; the slightest mis- 
take, the slightest relaxation of the strong and steady pressure 
of hands and feet, would have tumbled the Professor on the 
sharp rocks below. I breathed easier after he safely reached 
the bottom. Could I also succeed? I did not choose to run 
the risk, preferring the rather forlorn hope of finding a way 
around the water-fall. Cautiously stepping from bowlder to 
bowlder, I critically surveyed the situation. The steep sides of 
the ravine environed me ; a pair of wings would have been more 
prized at that moment than millions of money. Selecting a 
place that seemed slightly less perpendicular than the rest, I be- 
gan that terrible climb, aided by my trusty pike. The slope 
which from a distance had seemed composed of rough ledges 
of stone, proved to be a mass of crumbling shale. It slipped 
and slid beneath my step. Great masses that looked as solid 
as the rock of Gibraltar crumbled at a touch and rolled away. 
In vain I diverged, now to the right, now to the left, allured 
by the hope of finding solidity, each time disappointed, each 
time the same deceptive, crumbling material. 

Painfully pursuing this zigzag course for an hour or more I 
looked about to take my bearings. Cold horrors seized me as 
I saw I was within a few yards of a precipice. Were my 
strength to fail me one moment I w^ould slide down that preci- 
pice with the shaly soil that continually crumbled beneath my 
weight. I knew at a glance that slide would be into eternity. 
I lay flat on my face, holding my breath and thrusting my pike 
deep into the soil. During the ten or fifteen minutes that I 
lay there I thought of my happy home in far-off America. It 



MUSICAL SUEPRISES. — GLACIERS AND AVALANCHES. H7 

seemed millions of miles distant, as distant as if I had left the 
earth and was lost in some foreign world. I saw the grief- 
stricken face of my father and the anguish of my mother, and 
fresh strength and energy came to me and fresh hope. Before 
budging, I coolly considered how I should proceed. I began 
slowly, cautiously, to crawl upward, stopping sti.ll when I dis- 
lodged blocks of the soft shale. After more than an hour of 
this terrible climb, almost exhausted, almost despairing as I saw 
the darkness coming upon me, I heard the faint sound of voices 
in the distance. Lifting up my own, I gave such a yell as the 
rebels of the South in their palmiest days would have envied. 
On a ledge of rock far above me I dimly discovered the form^ 
of men. One was the Professor, the other two were peasants. 
They had ropes and lanterns. The rope was let down, I m^de-it 
fast under my arms, and was soon drawn up to a place of safety. 

The Professor had waited for me at the first shepherd's hut ; 
my prolonged absence had alarmed him, and he set out with the 
two shepherds on the search, following a goat's path that wound 
along the side of the ravine some eight hundred feet from the 
bottom. After a few minutes' rest we set out for Argentiere, 
where we arrived about midnight, too nervous and exhausted 
to continue the trip to Chamounix. 

My tramps into the interior of Switzerland afforded interest- 
ing glimpses of peasant life. Many of the peasants own the 
hut and land on which they live, although the cow and farming 
implements are often rented. A cow is treated with as much 
care as a baby. A man or woman generally sits near by, knit- 
ting, and taking care that the cow does not fall off the side of 
the farm. Then the milk, how carefully each drop is saved to 
make the big cheeses! Merchants from Geneva and Berne and 
other cities ride in the fall from one house to another and buy 
the cheeses, which ultimately go to all parts of the world. Be- 
fore winter sets in the Swiss peasant has a little money snug 
in hand, the rented cow goes back to her owner, and during 
the winter, when the deep snow and mountain storms keep him 
at home, he and his wife and children sit around the pine fire 



118 A TEAMP TRIP. 

and carve little wooden figures, human faces, all kinds of ani- 
mals, deer, bears, etc. These they sell in the spring, when the 
cheese -making begins again. Such is the life of the Swiss 
peasantry, simple and happ3\ They are economical and tem- 
perate, save in the matter of tobacco. Big pipes are filled to 
the top, and the peasant puffs steadily as he knits and watches 
his cow. Around each chalet, as their cottages are styled, is a 
small patch of flax or hemp. They have also a few sheep, and 
in the winter when not carving, they spin flax and make cloth 
from the wool of their sheep. 

One day in a small interior hamlet a travelling shoemaker 
came by. lie takes old cowhides, makes them into rough shoes 
and leggings, and for this receives at the peasant's chalet his 
lodging, meals, and about fifteen cents a day in money. 

*'Yes," he said, "I always have work enough. I go from 
place to place, and there is always some one needing shoes or 
wanting a cowhide dressed. They save up the hides until I 
come and make them into boots and shoes." 

The followinoj table shows his income and cost of livino' : 

Table of the Stviss ShoemaJcer, 
/?«come— estimating board and lodging at fifteen cents per day. $54 60 
Fifteen cents per day in money, averaging two hundred and ninety 
days per year 42 50 

Total yearly income $9'7 10 

Diet. — Breakfast : rye-bread, whey or milk. Dinner : rye-bread, potatoes, 
milk, sometimes cheese. Supper: rye-bread, whey or milk. Cost of 
food per day : 

Bread 4 cents. 

Potatoes or cabbage 3 " 

Milk 4 " 

Cheese, etc 2 " 

Total per day 13 cents ; per year. . $4 '7 45 

Lodging '' 7 30 

Clothing, including hats and shoes " 17 26 

Tobacco and wine, or beer '* 19 90 

Incidentals ** 6 66 

Total cost of living . ** $98 57 



MUSICAL SUEPRISES. — GLACIERS AND AVALANCHES. 119 

In Berne I knew that I was at last in German Switzerland 
by the long words that greeted me at every turn. The names 
over the shops and on the lamp-posts are so long they go around 
once or twice, and even then sometimes the end is left hanging 
over. Such a word, for instance, as hrennmaterialienhandlung 
is entirely too long to get over one door, so part of it is hung 
over the door of the neighboring shop. I met this noble word 
frequently in Berne ; it commanded my awe and respect. I 
thought none the less of it when I found it meant simply " coal- 
dealer." On the contrary, my respect increased for a language 
able to use such big words for such little things. 



120 A TRAMP TRIP. 



4 



CHAPTER XIV. 

SCALING THE GRIMSEL PASS AT MIDNIGHT. — ECONOMY THAT LAND- 
ED US IN JAIL. — ARRESTED AS A DYNAMITER. — THE STORY OF 
A HAT.— GERMAN IDEAS OP ENGLISH.— SHUT UP WITH A LUNA- 
TIC. — A FLYING MENAGERIE IN BADEN-BADEN. 

On my way over the Grimsel Pass I stopped at Interlaken, 
and there visited the celebrated Milk-care. A German milk- 
cure is a curious thing. They are not so numerous as the 
** beer cures/' but they are interesting. A park, with shady 
walks and sparkling fountains, contains an airy pavilion, where, 
at six o'clock in the morning, frequenters of the cure assemble 
and drink milk fresh from the cow, and listen to excellent mu- 
sic. They get as full as possible of warm milk, then stroll 
around the park until ready to hold more, then go again to 
the pavilion, and take in loads of the lacteal fluid. In any 
other country this would simply be called swilling milk ; here 
it is a " cure." Fat Germans bloated by beer, or overfed beef- 
eating Englishmen, go to Interlaken, live on milk a few weeks, 
give their overtaxed stomachs a rest, and pay high prices be- 
cause it is a " cure." Living on peasants' diet of black bread 
and milk would work a quicker cure, besides having the advan- 
tage of greater economy. 

The Grimsel Pass is one of the highest in Switzerland. The 
last two hours of the way lies buried in the snow ; it is safe to 
attempt its ascent only in the day, and in favorable weather. 
Within half an hour of the summit is a hospice, a solid granite 
structure, built to withstand the fierce storms of that bleak re- 
gion. 

It was nearing night when we reached that point, and I was 
for postponing the passage until morning. The Professor, 
however, protested. 



SCALING THE GRIMSEL PASS AT MIDXIGHT. 121 

" The charge for a bed here," he said, consulting his guide- 
books, *^ is four francs (eighty cents). I don't mean to break 
my record of cheap lodgings. We can easily push over the 
Pass to-night." 

And push we did. We traversed those vast fields of snow as 
the last rays of the setting sun faded beyond the distant mount- 
ains. When at last we stood on the extreme summit among 
lofty peaks and crags, the keen wind sweeping across the ava- 
lanches, chilling with its icy breath, it was night. A more 
weird and dismal scene cannot be imagined than that viewed 
by night from the summit of the Grimsel. All is desolation — 
a frozen wilderness. A few yards from where we stood in that 
vast solitude is a frozen sea, the grave of thousands of soldiers ; 
for as wild and inaccessible as is this spot, it has witnessed two 
nights of bloody strife. First, in the Middle Ages, the Bernese 
and the people of the Canton Wallace fought here, and the 
dead were buried in the frozen waters of the lake. Again, in 
1799, Napoleon wanted to drive back the Austrians. The 
lofty Grimsel was impregnable, until a peasant of Guttannen 
turned traitor and led the French by a secret path around and 
across the head of the Rhone Glacier to the hospice. The bat- 
tle was brief but bloody. The impetuous French drove the 
Austrians back across the fields of snow, and down into the 
valley. Many dead were left behind, and these found their 
last resting-place in the icy Todtensee — "Deadmen's Sea," so 
called since the bloody fray of 1799. 

The traitorous peasant received a large tract of land for his 
treachery, and Napoleon got Switzerland, and shortly afterwards 
Italy ; for he pursued the Austrians into the lowlands, whipped 
them at Marengo, and reduced all northern Italy to French 
control. 

Tw^o hours' rapid walking down the steep and rugged path 
that leads into the Rhone valley brought us to the Rhone Gla- 
cier Hotel. Here quite an adventure occurred. The Rhone 
Glacier Hotel was evidently for first-class tourists ; " no tramps 
need apply " seemed written all over its fashionable exterior. 
Q 



122 A TKAMP TRIP. 

What was to be done? The nearest village was distant three 
miles, and it was already midnight. 

Across the way was a small chalet, the stopping-place of the 
guides and teamsters. 

" We must rouse them up there," said the Professor, and 
going to the door he began pounding away, until a woman with 
a candle appeared rubbing her eyes. 

** Was wollen sie ?" (what do you wish), she said, in an in- 
jured tone. 

" Lodging, if you please," replied the Professor, suavely. 

" This is not the hotel. It is across the way." 

**But we do not wish to go to the hotel. We are poor 
journeymen." 

The woman looked at us hard and suspiciously. 

" I have no place," she said. 

**But you must have some place," persisted the Professor. 
" In the barn, on the floor — anywhere, only that it is some- 
where." 

This persistence increased the good woman's suspicions. She 
called to her husband, and between the two we suffered severe 
cross-examination. The Professor stuck to his story of being 
poor HandioerJcshurschen (journeymen), pleaded economy as 
the reason for not gomg to the hotel, and at length they con- 
sented to admit us. We lost no time in shedding our clothes 
and seeking our mattresses, which, though of straw, were as 
welcome as eider-down. 

So far the economical plan was working admirably. The 
hospice or hotel would have charged about a dollar; our beds 
in the chalet only cost ten cents, and the whole bill next morn- 
ing, breakfast included, was but fifteen cents apiece. The very 
small ness of the amount helped to get us in the predicament 
that followed. There was absolutely not a centime of Swiss 
money in our treasury ! 

It was our custom to carry our funds in English bank-notes, 
that being the most convenient form in which to carry money; 
we bought small change from time to time as needed. Our 



1 



ECONOMY THAT LANDED US IN JAIL. 123 

supply of Swiss money was exhausted, the smallest bill we had 
was a twenty-pound Bank of England note — about five hun- 
dred francs, a small fortune in the eyes of the frugal Swiss. It 
was unpleasant to have to present so large a bill, but there was 
no other alternative. It was impossible to slip away and get it 
changed. 

"Madam," said the Professor, timidly, "can you change a 
note V 

The woman looked at us in our blouses, and seeing we were 
too poor to go to the hotel, doubtless thought it a poor little 
^ve or ten franc note that we had been treasuring. 

" Certainly," she said, and reached out her hand. 

A bomb-shell would not have astonished her more — five 
hundred francs! Without saying a word, she stepped out of 
the door, and returned in three minutes wdth an officer of the 
gendarmes. In as many minutes more we were on our way 
with that officer to the next village. 

Appearances were certainly against us. It is not the custom 
in Switzerland for tramp journeymen to go about with small 
fortunes in their pockets. We were put to our wits' end to 
prove- that the money was lawfully ours. This our Ameri- 
can letters and papers, and fluent command of English, w^as at 
length able to do. We were dismissed with the warning that 
" an eye would be kept upon us." They did keep a pretty 
sharp eye on us, as I shall relate. 

Three days afterwards, when we walked into Lucerne, we 
were as dilapidated as any American professional tramps. Our 
shoes were worn, our blouses stained and dirty, our whole ap- 
pearance shabby in the extreme. Depositing our knapsacks at 
a lodging-house, we went out on the quay to look at the boats 
and the river, and consider the question of once more dressing 
like gentlemen. I proposed celluloid collars and cuffs as hav- 
ing the advantage of economy, not having to be washed or 
ironed, and also the advantage of looking neat and dressy. 
The Professor at once fell into one of his odd philosophical 
moods. 



124 A TRAMP TRIP. 

" Celluloid," said he, speaking in German — we talked in Ger- 
man for practice — " celluloid is a dangerous compound. It con- 
tains gun-cotton ; heat, a sudden blow might produce an explo- 
sion." 

In this absurd strain he continued, using the biggest words 
he could think of simply for the pleasure of hearing himself 
talk. In the midst of his harangue a man who had been lurk- 
ing near approached and addressed us. 

'* Was sind Sic fuer Landsleute?" (what nationality are you). 

We imagined him a guide or cheap-hotel runner. To avoid 
his importunities, we answered in an off-hand manner that we 
were ** Handwerksburschen aus Berne" (journeymen from 
Berne), then resumed our celluloid conversation. The supposed 
hotel runner stopped us again. 

** You must go with me," he said, opening his coat and dis- 
playing the badge of the secret police, and once more we were 
honored by the State's attention. 

When before the city authorities, the man testified that he 
had heard a very suspicious conversation of bombs and explo- 
sions, and had reason to believe we were German Socialists, 
bent on disaffecting the working-classes and stirring np mis- 
chief. The brass-buttoned officials eyed us severely. 

*' Who are you ?" was demanded. 

" Americans." 

** Show your passports." 

The mischief was, neither of us had a passport. A passport 
costs five dollars. We had saved that five dollars, and at that 
moment regretted our unwise economy. 

" No papers ?" said the officer, with an ominous scowl. " How, 
then, can you prove that you are Americans ?" 

A happy thought darted into the Professor's mind. He had 
a draft on a bank in Lucerne ; the bank had his signature. He 
wrote his name for the police authorities to carry to the bank 
and compare with the signature there. As this comparison 
was satisfactory, and there was really nothing against us, they 
were compelled to release us, as it seemed to me, very unwill- 



THE STORY OF A HAT. 125 

ingly. They could not understand why young men with money 
in their pockets should live like peasants. During our stay in 
Lucerne we w^cre shadowed by the police. Switzerland is the 
refuge for Socialists, Nihilists, Anarchists, and political offend- 
ers of all sorts, making an element the Swiss consider danger- 
ous. So many Nihilists congregate in Zurich that the Czar not 
many years ago issued a ukase commanding all good Russians 
to leave that canton on pain of banishment and punishment 
for treason if afterward found in the Russian empire. 

Before leaving Switzerland, I went to Schaffhausen to see 
the Falls of the Rhine. While taking a stroll early one morn- 
ing I stopped at one of the numerous small inns and ordered a 
glass of milk. "Cold, sweet milk," I said twice to the waiter, 
as otherwise they bring, as a matter of course, either hot or sour 
milk — two favorite ways of taking milk among the Germans. 
To my surprise, even after having thus given my order twice, 
and each time very distinctly, the waiter brought me a pitcher 
of boiling hot milk. I repeated my order for a glass of cold 
milk. The waiter said he had none. I arose to go. 

"What!" he exclaimed, "you will not pay?" and, without 
w^aiting a reply, he snatched my hat from my head and gave it 
to the proprietor, who at that moment entered. I looked at 
them with a sort of admiration. Never had I seen such pure 
assurance, never men with so free-and-easy a method of col- 
lecting payment for goods neither ordered nor used. Gazing 
some moments at the good-natured host and his waiter, I took 
down his name and number, and repaired bareheaded to the po- 
lice-station. There I related my story of a hat. The officers 
consulted, and finally decided the matter was not within their 
jurisdiction. 

"Go," they said, "to the Friedensrichter " (peace-justice). 

The Friedensrichter was a grave, bald-headed man, with a 
portly paunch that betokened acquaintance with much beer. As 
I was about to state my case, the learned man raised his hand 
and bade me stop. 

" Do you not know," he said, " that my fee must first be paid ?" 



126 A TRAMP TRIP. 

"But, sir, I have a cliarge of assault to make. Must I pay 
for notifying an officer of a breacli of the peace ?" 

" You must. The fee is two and a half francs.'^ 

This was odd. I wanted light on the subject, and requested 
the address of a lawyer. The Friedensrichter gave me one. 
Half an hour later I knocked at the door of the man of law% 
only to learn that he Avas away serving his annual three weeks 
in the army. The maid, however, told me of another lawyer, 
and he, upon payment of a fee for legal services, told me the 
law w^as on the milkman's side, but that I could go to the 
**Gerichtspraesident " if I desired still further information. I 
went to the Gerichtspraesident. He, too, said the law was 
with the hot-milk man. Then I went to the rascally land- 
lord. 

*'I pay you," I said, handing him the money and taking my 
hat — " I pay you, not for the milk I did not order and did not 
drink, but for the information you have been the means of ray 
acquiring." 

" What information ?" 

"That a stranger may be assaulted here without redress." 

The churl laughed scornfully. But I got even with him. 
My first act, on reaching German territory, was to send the po- 
lite Swiss landlord a large package by express: the charges, 
about one dollar and forty cents, I did not prepay. There was 
nothing in the package excepting a lot of sawdust, and a sheet 
of paper with this single line: 

"Zum Andenken an den Mann dessen Hut Sie gestohlen 
haben" ("souvenir of the man whose hat you stole"). 

On arriving in Germany, I bought Dr. Feller's English-Ger- 
man conversation-book, designed for the use of Germans travel- 
ling in England. Some of the doctor's specimens of " conver- 
sation " English are unique. The following, for the stage-coach 
traveller, is given verbatim et literatim et " punctuatim :" 

" She, Would you be kind enough to change places with me, 
sir?" 

^'He. W^ith much pleasure, miss; pray make no ceremony." 



GERMAN IDEAS OF ENGLISH 127 

" She, Shall we endeavor to arrange our legs ? My left foot 
is gone to sleep. 

" j^(?. You are right. Place your right leg here and take your 
cloak to cover yourself with. 

" She, Do you snuff, sir ? 

" He, A little, I thank you. There is the town where we are 
going. 

** She, Thank God ! I am tired of sitting." 

Imagine some unsophisticated German with Dr. Feller's con- 
versation-guide asking an English lady to " arrange her legs 1" 
Here is a sample of his railroad English : 

" Conductor, why are we detained ?" 

"To take in water and hang on more second-class carriages.*' 

" Very well, I shall go into the restoration in the mean 
time." 

On Shipboard, " Oh dear, there lies the gentleman and the 
beefsteak." 

" Why are the engines stopped ?" 

"To take in the pilot. One cannot see the land for the 
thick atmosphere." 

In a Hotel, "Have you a comfortable room in front?" 

"Oh yes, but it is three stories high." 

" That is too high, for my breath is very short." 

The doctor must have meant that the room was on the third 
floor; the questioner, however, regarding what was said, not 
meant, very naturally declined the room. A room "three sto- 
ries high " is altogether too high for a man with " very short 
breath." Polite conversation in English runs thus, according 
to Dr. Feller : 

" Sir, what is the matter with you? How long have you 
been ill f 

" Since the day I had the honor of seeing you at my uncle's." 

To Servants, " There are stains in my blue coat ; you must 
take it to be scoured. Comb me carefully. You lace me too 
tight. Let them a little looser." 

Hitherto Ollendorf, with his " where-is-the-blue-umbrella-t)f- 



128 A TRAMP TRIP. 

my-grandfather's-red-mule " sort of question, has stood at the 
head of this peculiar kind of literature, hut he will have to yield 
the palm to Dr. Feller of Gotha. As the Professor remarked, 
the doctor's name should be spelled with an " h" instead of two 
" I's '' (FeAler instead of FelZer). As " Fehler," in German, sig- 
nifies " mistake, error," I quite agree with the Professor. Cer- 
tainly it would be difficult to concoct an English conversation- 
book with more errors than Dr. Feller has succeeded in getting 
in his little work. 

Strasbourg has many interesting features ; there is the clock, 
the cathedral, the peculiar -looking houses, the fortifications. 
What to me was more interesting, however, was the peculiar 
relation of the city to the German Government. The people 
talk German, they look German, they belong to Germany, but 
their love and affection are all for France. True, it has been 
but a few years since they belonged to France ; but when I saw 
the city, talked with the people, and found them so Teutonic 
in manner and language, I expected to find their sympathies 
for Germany as much as if they had never owed allegiance to 
France. It was hard to believe the city really French in senti- 
ment. I became convinced only after questioning all sorts of 
people, and in one instance getting myself into a scrape. 

The better to mix with the workmen, I wore the blue blouse 
of the German "Dicnstmann" (service-man). Speaking Ger- 
man with some fluency, I was taken for a native workman, and 
had my questions answered freely. On one occasion I was 
unfortunate enough to forget the role I was playing. It was in 
a cheap coffee-house. The remarks of one of the working- 
men so interested me I took out my note-book and began to 
note them down. The sudden cessation of talk, the sudden 
stillness, made me look up ; every eye was fixed upon me, 
angry suspicion in them. I had not the least idea wdiat I had 
done to lose their confidence. Then I heard the word, " Spion " 
(spy) hissed out. It was taken up by one and then another, 
until the air was full of angry " Spion," " spion," " spion." I 
declared at once my nationality. 



FRENCH FEELING IN STRASBOURG. 129 

*' Sie sind so wenig Amerikaner wie icli !'' (you are as little 
American as I am), yelled a big', burly Louse-painter in overalls, 
daubed with paint, as he shook his fist at me. 

I believe the infuriated crowd would have given me a drub- 
bing had it not been for a policeman who was attracted to the 
place by the noise and hubbub. As I walked away with the 
officer he explained the affair. From my ready use of the pen 
those workmen jumped to the conclusion that I was a spy em- 
ployed by the German Government to take note of the disaffec- 
tion of the people towards Germany, and their love for France. 

"You think it strange," said a man with whom I was con- 
versing on the subject, in a more reasonable company, " that 
the people here love France more than Germany. You must 
remember for one hundred and eighty years we belonged to 
France. In that time we learned to love the country, even 
though we learned not the language. In another one hundred 
and eighty years Strasbourg will learn to love Germany ; that 
is," he added, with a significant smile, " if France does not have 
her back by that time." 

In Italy soldiers are very numerous. In Switzerland the sup- 
ply is altogether too liberal to suit American ideas. Germany 
surpasses them all. In Germany the American traveller feels 
as if he were in a vast military camp. 

I took a walk in the suburbs of Strasbourg. I saw soldiers 
throwing up intrenchments, building bridges, drilling ; the as- 
pect of the country looked more warlike than peaceful. On 
the main street of Strasbourg one afternoon, in about half an 
hour I counted five hundred soldiers — five hundred, not in a 
body, but singly- — five hundred off duty, merely strolling about. 
Soldiers are compelled to salute all officers. As officers are 
almost as numerous as soldiers, the result is interesting. You 
look down the street, and see a crowd of men lifting their hands 
stiffly and awkwardly in the air, crooking the elbows, and bring- 
ing the fingers to the rim of the cap ; then unbending the arm 
and letting it fall to the side, to be raised again, however, be- 
fore it has been there two seconds. 
6* 



130 A TRAMP TRIP. 

This saluting is irksome. It is about the only work many 
officers have to do ; and from the rekictant manner in which 
they respond to the private's greetings I imagine they do not 
like to do even that. The salute on the part of the soldier is 
obligatory. Once, when looking in a shop-window, a soldier 
happened by, and also stopped to look in the window. Sud- 
denly he stiffened straight as a poker, wheeled, and brought his 
hand to his cap. He had seen the reflection of an officer in the 
window. 

*^ Must you even go out of your way to salute ?" I asked the 
soldier, after the officer had passed. 

" Not seeing the officer," he replied, " is sometimes accepted 
as an excuse, but not always. ' If you didn't see me, you ought 
to,' an officer will sometimes say, and give you ten days or two 
weeks in the guard-house." 

This soldier told me of a case where an officer, to punish a 
new recruit for " stupidity," ordered him to aim and discharge 
his gun at the sun. The recruit did so, and was stricken blind. 
At first nothing whatever was said of the matter ; when, finally, 
the surgeon reported the case to headquarters, the only punish- 
ment accorded the inhuman officer was a reprimand. One day 
in the park, pointing to a passing soldier, I asked a little boy, 

" Willst du Soldat werden ?" (do you want to become a sol- 
dier). 

The little fellow eyed the brass buttons, the bright red stripes 
and glittering helmet, and seemed about to say yes; but he 
hesitated. 

"No," he said; ** ray papa was a soldier, and my papa had 
his eye shot out. No, Herr, I don't want to be a soldier, and 
have my eye shot out." 

Nevertheless, if that little boy lives to become a man, and the 
present government lasts until then, the strong arm of the law 
will seize him, and rob him of the fairest years of his life, put- 
ting him through fatiguing drills, in tiresome barracks, and in 
wars where he may have his eye shot out as was his father's. 

On the way to Baden-Baden I found myself face to face with 



SHUT UP WITH AK INSANE WOMAN. 131 

an insane woman ; but at first I had no suspicion of lier insan- 
ity ; so when she craned lier neck forward and pointed upward, 
and asked me if I saw that big balloon, I craned my neck and 
stared at the cloudless sky, and wondered why I too could not 
see the big balloon. Then the woman laughed loudly and tri- 
umphantly. 

** Fooled ! fooled !" she screamed ; *^oh, what fools you men 
are ! "What poor fools ! Ha, ha, ha !" 

I stared in amazement, and she went off into screams of 
laughter, becoming so excited that a strong-looking woman by 
her side felt it necessary to interfere to soothe and restrain. 
Then I discovered that the poor woman who thought men such 
fools, though possibly right on that point, was wrong on others. 

She had on a strait-jacket, and the muscular woman by her 
side was taking her to an asylum. 

The first thino- one notices in Baden-Baden is the sio-n an- 
nouncing the rate at which visitors are taxed. One person per 
year pays thirty marks ($5.00) ; a family of two pays thirty 
marks ; of six, forty-eight marks ; per day, it is half a mark — 
twelve cents. Payment of this tax gives access to the public 
gardens, parks, springs, etc. Life in Baden-Baden is monoto- 
nous. In the niorning you drink water, eat breakfast, take a 
stroll, bathe in the mineral waters at eleven, sleep, lunch, and 
at 3 P.M. go to the " Conversationshaus " and listen to music 
and watch the children play. A big German in knee-breeches 
and swallow-tail coat is employed to amuse the children : he is 
a success, for he amuses the grown folks as well as the young 
ones. I spent a very pleasant hour watching his burly form 
rolling on the grass and performing all manner of jolly tricks. 
At the conclusion of his performance he sent up a variety of 
queer-shaped balloons — some made to resemble horses, others 
elephants, fishes, men, etc. These odd figures hung a few hun- 
dred feet over our heads like a flying menagerie. 



132 



A TRAMP TEIP. 



CHAPTER XV. 

AFOOT IN GERMANY.— POYERTY OP THE STUDENTS.— ADVENTURES 
OF A DUTCHMAN.— THE BOOZY LOVER.— MARRIAGE AND FUNERAL 
CUSTOMS. 

The stranger entering Heidelberg is apt to think there has 
been a bloody riot, and that the Heidelbergians got the worst 
of it. The town is full of students, and almost every student 
is slashed and gashed with sword-wounds. Some have their 
ears and nose slotted, others have their cheeks cut from jaw to 
skull. These are wounds received in duels which are fought 
twice a week in a little white house across the river. On the 
morning of the duelling-days streams of carriages may be seen 
crossing the bridge on the way to the little house. Each car- 
riage contains only one student and a dog, so that it requires a 
number of vehicles to get all the dogs and all the students over. 
Mark Twain, in his " Tramp Abroad," airily says : 

" In the interest of science, I told my agent to procure ad- 
mission, and on the appointed day was prompt on hand to 
witness the proceedings." 

It is provoking that Mark did not explain how his ^* agent"* 
procured admission. While the duels are in progress sentinel 
students are posted about to give warning of the approach of 
strangers. Only corps students and their intimate friends are 
admitted to the sacred precincts. 

The old Heidelberg Castle is still a romantic place. Por- 
tions of its wall have been blown to pieces by the French, and 
parts have suffered sadly from the ravages of time ; still, much 
of the old-time grandeur remains. Often I strolled by night 
through its gloomy underground passages, its deserted moats 
and dikes, imagination going back to the time when the castle 



AFOOT IN GERMANY. 133 

was full of stirring life, when stern soldiers stood in the now 
empty sentry-boxes, and brave knights, all clad in steel, galloped 
across the drawbridge, and war was the general work of life. 
Though war yet seems to make a big part of German life, still 
there is an improvement : modern times are a little more peace- 
ful than past times. 

One evening I sat by the spring in the court-yard — the same 
spring whose cool, clear waters the knights and ladies of old 
had drunk from. The shadows grew deeper and deeper as the 
moon sank behind the ruined walls. The sound of an old Ger- 
man folks-song came floating to me on the still night air. The 
voice sounded sweet and young. The situation, the hour, har- 
monizing with my thoughts, all conspired to rouse within me 
the feelings of romance, of poetry, which doubtless is latent in 
every breast only twenty -two years old. My heart gave a 
bound ; I listened breathlessly and eagerly ; gazed, not only 
hoping, but actually expecting, to see a fair lady shine out from 
the gloom. So I w^as not the least startled when a white fig- 
ure appeared in one of the upper windows of the castle. Just 
as I was about to address her in Romeo style^-" Fair spirit," 
etc. — another voice interrupted the singer — a good, substan- 
tial, every-day voice of a good, substantial, every-day German 
Frau. 

" Louisa," said the voice — '' Louisa, have you brought in the 
wash r 

And the sweet singing stopped, and the sweet voice scream- 
ed, " Vm agoing to, now !" 

That ended my Heidelberg Castle romance. I learned next 
day that the rooms looking out on the south end of the castle 
are occupied by the custodian's family. His daughter, the 
sweet singer, is a solid, red -cheeked German lassie weighing 
fully one hundred and fifty pounds. The wife of the custo- 
dian speaks four languages ; and when she shows the castle, 
rattles off her descriptions in French, English, German, and 
Italian. 

In Germany as in Italy it was my custom to stop at work- 



134 A TRAMP TRIP. 

ing-men's clieap hotels and lodging-houses. They afforded a 
better and closer view of the classes the study of which formed 
the object of my trip. Moreover, they are economical. The 
highest price demanded in such places for a room is forty pfen- 
nige (nine cents). The usual rate is only fifteen or twenty 
pfennige (three or four cents). One afternoon in Frankfort- 
on-the-Main, while lying down in the room of a workman's 
hotel, resting after a long tramp, there was a timid knock at 
the door, and a moment later a head poked itself in, followed 
by the very shabbily dressed body of a very shabby - looking 
man. He looked at me hesitatingly, then said, in an humble, 
apologetic tone, 

"Pardon, mein Herr. I am hungry. I have had nothing to 
eat." 

" Nothing to eat !" I exclaimed, rising from my couch. 

" Yes," he said, '' nothing for two days. I am very hungry." 

" But would they give you nothing at the farm-houses ? Will 
they give you nothing here in the hotel ?" 

" Ah, Ilerr, I have not dared to ask. It is forbidden to beg, 
forbidden to ask for work." 

The man seemed honest, yet it looked hardly credible that a 
man should be forbidden to ask for work. I took him to the 
nearest eating-house and ordered a substantial but cheap meal. 
The poor fellow was ravenous. He had eaten nothing for two 
days, and on an empty stomach had dragged himself forty miles. 
When he had done eating he told me his story. He was the 
son of a South German bricklayer. His father had given him 
a common -school education; but being ambitious above the 
ordinary, he had worked hard, saved a pittance of money, and 
gone to the university at Leipsic. He was now on his way home 
to earn a livelihood, as he hoped, by teaching. His statement 
regarding begging and asking for work I found to be literally 
true. An observer entering a German town may see the an- 
nouncement that beggars of alms and persons asking employ- 
merit will be sent to the workhouse. I gave my young student 
a mark (twenty-four cents), enough to pay his way for the next 



POVERTY OF THE STUDENTS. 135 

two clays' journey, whereupon he took liis departure with many 
blessings and expressions of gratitude.'^ 

Frankfort's main recommendation to the tourist is its his- 
torical houses — houses in which great men either lived or were 
born. On Jew Street is still standing the shanty where the first 
Rothschild was born. In 1872 seventeen houses in the neigh- 
borhood fell down and killed thirty-four people. New build- 
ings have taken their places ; the Rothschild shanty, which some- 
how did not fall, is the only one of the old houses left. The 
head office of the Rothschilds, just around the corner from the 
birthplace of the founder of the firm, is in a very common- 
looking house ; from outside appearances one would never im- 
agine that behind those windows and gratings was the money 
centre of Germany, if not, indeed, of all Europe. Jew Street 
w^as formerly a kind of Jew prison. There were gates at each 
end ; a bell rang at sunset, and any Jew caught off Jew Street 
after that hour was severely punished. 

Visitors are shown the house wherein Goethe was born — a 
simple, plain building, with a tablet over the door, merely stat- 
ing, 

*'IN THIS HOUSE JOHN WOLFGANG GOETHE WAS BORN, 
AUGUST 28, 1749." 

The window from which Luther made his celebrated speech is 
shown. 

* Professor Billroth comments upon the great increase of pauper stu- 
dents, and as examples of the straits to which these hapless hungerers 
after knowledge are reduced, quotes from a Berlin paper the application 
made by a university student who asked to be employed as a night-sweep- 
er ; a post which, however modest, would not interfere with the prosecu- 
tion of his studies. In the Gallician and Hungarian universities poor stu- 
dents sell matches on the streets, or, if they have a musical gift, eke out 
an existence by playing or singing in cafes. Many of them, for want of 
books and leisure to study, never manage to pass the examinations, and 
settle down after thirty to the very humblest occupations, while not a few 
take to evil courses and swell the army of criminals. This fact I ob- 
tained from an article in the Fall Mall Gazette bearing upon the subject 
in question. 



136 



A TRAMP TRIP. 



" If the way is covered with devils, yet will I go to Worms," 
spoke the intrepid reformer ; and the imaginative mind, in gaz- 
ing at the window from which he spoke those words, can pict- 
ure the scene, can see the mob staring and wondering at such 
determination — a determination that braved the Holy Catholic 
Church, the mightiest power of that age. On the Stein weg, 
glancing up I saw a stone tablet just under a window of the 
second story. Translated, the inscription on the tablet runs 
thus: 

"IN THIS HOUSE WAS THE PEACE BETWEEN FRANCE AND 

GERMANY SIGNED, 

ISTl." 



There, in that room, the five milliards of francs were promised ; 
Napoleon was already in exile — a disappointed, broken-down 
man. The strange career that began in the fortress at Ham 
was virtually closed in that second-story room on the Steinweg 
in Frankfort. The Kaiser Hall contains portraits of the Ger- 
man emperors from Conrad the First (912 a.d.) down to mod- 
ern times. These portraits represent men in gowns with vil- 
lanous-looking faces. In those days, to become emperor it was 
necessary to lay aside scruples and play the villain's part. Hen- 
ry V. (1106 A.D.) has, in particular, a disagreeable face — cun- 
ning and cruel. I would not like to meet such a face on a 
lonely road. Most of those old fellows went crusading to Jeru- 
salem. Crusading was by no means a pleasure-jaunt, and no 
doubt the hardships endured, the bloody scrimmages, the rob- 
beries and general wickedness perpetrated by those pious Cru- 
saders, had a great deal to do in giving that ill-tempered ex- 
pression to the faces pictured on the canvas. 

A Frankfort window-sign reads thus: *' Jeweller to their Maj- 
esties : His Majesty the King of Denmark, his Majesty the King 
of Greece," etc., through the list of all the kings of Europe and 
the Emperor of Brazil ; then a list of queens : *' Her Maj- 
esty the Queen of Portugal," etc. ; then a list of ** Excellencies, 
dukes," etc. The window was fairly covered with the high and 



A GAMBLING SCENE IN WIESBADEN. 137 

niiglity names, tliougli it is doubtful whether their Highnesses 
and Majesties ever heard of the little Frankfort jeweller. An- 
other Frankfort sign of interest is that of L. Levy, U. S. Consul. 
It is not the sign as consul that is interesting, but the sign an- 
nouncing that " L. Levy, United States Consul, has a choice lot 
of the best dry-goods, ladies' gloves, gents' ties, etc." Mr. Levy 
seems to be of a mercantile turn, and displays along-side the 
stars and stripes a pretty big advertisement of his dry-goods 
business. 

In Wiesbaden I went to the Conversationshaus, where, seven- 
teen years ago, men won and lost fortunes, where noblemen 
threw away their inheritances in a single night. Talking, 
laughing, noise of any kind, however slight, was not permit- 
ted. The players sat with pale faces ; the servants of rich men 
stood behind their masters with rouleaux of gold, handing it 
over silently from time to time as the piles on the table van- 
ished from sight. Too often, after a night of hard luck, the 
despairing gambler would rise from the table, go out on the 
street— a moment later a pistol-shot, and a dead body ! While 
walking in the spacious hall musing over the melancholy scenes, 
the suicides, the lost fortunes, the broken hearts which that 
magnificent chandelier in the grand salon had gleamed down 
upon, music from the strings of a harp fell on my ear. In my 
mind's eye I always picture a harp and a beautiful woman to- 
gether. The harp is the most gracefully formed of all instru- 
ments. With the ready romance of youth I jumped to the 
idea that those unseen strings were swept by the fairest fingers, 
and that the loveliest form sat by. Softly stealing towards the 
door whence issued the sounds, I peeped, and saw — an exclama- 
tion burst from my lips as I saw a round, fat, bald-headed, 
middle-aged fellow, the sweat streaming from his red face, 
twanging those divine strings ! 

The Professor, dear old fellow, left me at Zurich. I was 
alone until I reached Wiesbaden, when I made the acquaintance 
of a musician from Amsterdam. My description of the delights 
of pedestrianism so pleased him that he decided to join me in 



138 A TRAMP TEIP. 

my tramp. We took the cars back to Heidelberg, and there set 
out on foot through Wurtemberg and Bavaria. About ten 
miles out from Heidelberg I inquired of a man standing in a 
door-way if we could obtain something to eat there. 

" Na," he grunted, " kann aber hiebe kriegen " (but ye can 
get a licking). 

My Dutch musician thought the man was joking. After a 
quarter of a mile walk, liowever, the fact got through his head 
that the man w^as simply surly and boorish ; then the Dutch- 
man was so mad that he wanted to go back and whip him. 
The churl, I learned, was an employe of Prince Lowenstein. 

We overtook, one morning, a stout peasant-woman, with a 
scythe under one arm and a baby and a jug of beer under the 
other. She looked at our blouses, and soon fell to gossiping. 

" Ah," she said, *' it is fine to be a HandwerkshurscV (travel- 
ling journeyman) "when one is young. It is the way to see 
the world ; and it pays well too, does it not ?" 

"Not very," I answered, carelessly, "only three or four 
marks" (seventy-two or ninety-six cents) "a day." 

"Three or four marks!" she exclaimed, "that is splendid. 
Is it really true? Three or four marks? The factory hands 
at Goeppingen make not so much. Ah, you must be a pretty 
w^orkman," and she looked at me in undisguised admiration. 

When we reached the fields, this good woman deposited her 
baby, her jug of beer, and bread under a tree, and began a hard 
day's work with her scythe to earn twenty or twenty-five cents. 
There are no farm-houses ; all live in hauerdorfs — peasant vil- 
lages. The fields are often two or three miles away, and to 
reach them betimes the agricultural laborer has to get up very 
early in the morning. Loss of time is not the only disadvan- 
tage arising from this custom ; there is also a loss of comfort 
and health. A bauerdorf consists of a few miserable two-story 
houses huddled together on crooked streets. Each side of each 
street is invariably lined with stacks of ill -smelling manure. 
One can smell a bauerdorf almost a quarter of a mile away. 

The names of the inns in these villao;es are often odd. Once 



A GERMAN ACCOEDION-PLAYER. 139 

I stopped in an inn, " To the Golden Air.'' Another time in 
one, " To the Bunch of Grapes," " Inn to the Ked Rooster," 
" Inn to the Yellow Angel," etc. In Obrigheim, a fine bauer- 
dorf with more than the usual number of manure-heaps, the 
host was a young German with a blond beard and a wonderful 
air of complaisance and self-satisfaction. He played the accor- 
dion, and the two old beer-drinkers who constituted his com- 
pany the night we were there declared the accordion-playing 
divine. The old bloats looked on in ecstasy while the blond 
host tipped back in his chair and squeezed doleful squeaks and 
wheezes from his instrument. At the conclusion of the strain 
— I must not say melody — the beer-drinkers turned to me and, 
with one voice, demanded if I had ever heard such music be- 
fore ? 

"Never !" I fervently and truthfully replied. 

" Ah, I tell you," said one, a shoemaker by trade, " our host 
comes of a musical family. You can walk two days without 
finding such a player." 

My Amsterdam companion was a professional of the Wag- 
nerian school. Of course his cultivated ears were tortured ; his 
sympathizing face showed it so plainly that I endeavored to 
divert attention from his disgusted looks by extravagant lauda- 
tion, which so pleased the beery audience that one of them 
offered me snuff from his dirty box ; this was worse than the 
music. I politely refused, whereupon he kindly volunteered 
advice as to my future life. 

"A young fellow like you ought to know something of the 
world," he said. " I have been about a good deal in my day. 
When I w^as a handwerksbursch I was as far as Switzerland, and 
almost to Italy. I dare say you have hardly heard of those 
countries, eh ?" 

" They are a long way off," I answered, modestly, and then 
listened to the w^onderful story of his trip to Switzerland. 
Thirty years had passed since he made that great trip ; but a 
two-hundred-mile journey is looked upon as so huge a thing by a 
bauerdorf shoemaker that it lives in his memory while life lasts. 



( 



140 



A TEAMP TRIP. 



An old man v/hom we overtook carrying a bundle of twig 
brooms was bent with age and drudgery. I carried bis bundle 
for him a short distance while he took breath and told me the 
simple story of his life. lie had made brooms since his youth. 
Every morning he goes into the forest, cuts his twigs, and 
makes his brooms. In one day he makes twelve brooms, which 
take half of another day to sell, he peddling them from hamlet 
to hamlet. The brooms sell for nine pfennige each (about two 
and a quarter cents) ; so that for two days' w^ork the poor old 
man makes barely thirty cents. When I gave him back his 
bundle he looked at me thankfully. 

" You are good to help an old man," he said. ** You arc 
young now, and make, maybe, your two marks a day ; but days 
will go by, and after a while you will want some one to help 
carry your brooms. Ah, it is a hard world for the old ; always 
work, work, nothing but work ;" and the wrinkled old man 
went on his way. From the replies he made to my questions 
as to how much he earned, spent, etc., I prepared the following 
table of the 

German Twig-hroom Maker. 

Earns per year $68 64 



Cost of Livii 
Per Day. 

Lodging 3 J cents 

Potatoes and sauerkraut 3 

Bread 3 

All other food 3 

Coffee and sugar 2 

Beer 2 

Clothing 

Incidentals 



Per Year. 

$12 11 

" 10 95 

'* 10 95 

" 10 95 

" 7 30 

" 7 30 

7 20 

1 22 



Daily cost of food, etc 16|- cents. 



Total $68 64 



In a country inn where I stopped for dinner, a " Verlobungs 
Karte " (engagement card) was hung on the wall. 
** When is the marriage to be ?" I asked the host. 



THE BOOZY LOVER. 141 

He winked, shook his finger mysteriously, and whispered, 

" Sh ! she is over there. It may not be for years. Her man 
is poor." 

The future bride was sitting by the window, and, despite her 
father's caution, overheard our remarks. She blushed a rosy 
red, and her fingers flew faster with the knitting. It seems the 
custom is to publish engagements as soon as made ; from that 
hour the couple are looked upon as almost married. The girl 
sees no company, goes out but little, and is supposed to think 
only of the happy hour that is to make her and her beloved 
one — not always an easy thing to do, for that hour is too 
often very far off, sometimes never arrives ; for it not infre- 
quently happens that the engagements, in spite of their pub- 
licity, become broken. The girl in such cases stands small 
chances of ever being married. No man wants a woman 
who has been jilted, or who has been almost the wife of 
another. 

Marriage and funeral ceremonies may go on at the same time 
in the same church. One morning about six o'clock, in the 
ancient town of Gmuend, on my way over the Hohenstaufen, 
I passed a church in the style of the Milan Cathedral, built by 
the same architect. The sound of music from within attracted 
me. I went in. A man and woman were being made one, 
and at the same moment prayers were being said over a corpse. 
Not ten feet away from the bride in her white dress was the 
cofl[in with its gloomy trappings ! 

One night after supper, the Dutchman, having found a piano 
in the beer-room of the inn, began playing heavy Wagner mu- 
sic. This so enchanted a boozy man who sat at a table drink- 
ing beer that he came up, embraced the musician, and called for 
an encore. He was almost too full of beer for utterance, but 
managed to tell us he was going to be married. 

" And I want you to play some music in honor of the event," 
he stuttered. 

At the end of each selection he hurrahed and cheered, and 
ordered more beer brought to the musician. The latter knew 



142 



A TRAMP TRIP. 



well how to dispose of beer ; still, be was not up to the would- 
be Benedick's standard, and, soon a row of filled and half-filled 
mugs began to form in front of him on the piano. The big, 
boozy lover was so persistent for more and more music, that 
the good-natured Dutchman did not make his escape and get 
to bed until the lover had fallen asleep, and was unaware when 
the music ceased. 



AMONG THE FACTORIES. 143 



CHAPTER XVI. 

AMONG THE FACTORIES. — LIFE OF GERMAN MILL OPERATIVES. •— 
now TO FORM A BEER "KNEIPER." — THE DEAD-HOUSE OF MU- 
NICH. — ANECDOTES OF BAVARIAN PEASANTRY. — THEIR SUPER- 
STITION. 

Twelve miles from Goeppingen,on the high-road in the direc- 
tion of Ulm, nestling at the base of high hills or mountains, is 
a place called " Kuken Fabrik," the literal signification of which 
is " Cake-factory." It is, however, by no means a cake-factory. 
On the contrary, cake is scarcely known there, the inhabit- 
ants being glad if they only have a suflSciency of rye or black 
bread. Kuken Fabrik is a manufactory of cotton goods ; and 
the town, if so it may be called, is composed entirely of the 
factory hands and employes, some seven hundred persons in 
all. Around a small park forming a hollow square are built a 
number of plain two-story houses, which form the habitations 
of the seven hundred hands. Each house has two floors, with 
four rooms to the floor. Families of five, six, or seven persons 
may sometimes be found occupying an entire floor; none, 
though, enjoy the luxury of an entire cottage, and the majori- 
ty content themselves with two rooms, making four families ta 
the cottage. 

In front of each cottage is a small plot of ground planted 
with vegetables, which is shared in common by the imiiates of 
the cottage. The park or hollow square is planted with shade- 
trees and provided with long tables, at which in summer the 
operatives eat their dinners between the hours of twelve and 
one o'clock. Work is begun at six in the morning, and con-- 
tinned, with intermissions during the day amounting in all to 
one hour and forty minutes, up to seven o'clock. For this 
day's work of eleven and a half hours and upward a good 



144 



A TKAMP TKIP. 



man-spinner receives two and a half marks (about sixty cents). 
Women-spinners earn less. They average only thirty-seven and 
a half cents a day of twelve hours' actual work, and thirteen 
hours at the mills. Boys and girls twelve years of age work 
not more than six hours per day. Their wages amount to the 
pitiful sum of nine to eighteen cents per w^eek. Tabulated, the 
statement of wages paid at Kuken Fabrik appears thus : 

Wage-table, 

Spinners, men. per week of Q(j to 68 hours $3.60 

Spinners, women, per week of 66 to 68 hours 2.25 

Eoys and girls, per week of 83 to 34 hours 09 to .18 

Firemen, per week of 66 to 68 hours 3.60 

Engineers, per week of 66 to 68 hours 3.84 

x\ workman's ordinary suit costs $7.30; a Sunday suit costs 
thirty to thirty-six marks ($7.30 to $8.64). Such a suit the 
workman wears for years. The rent of two rooms per week 
ranges from thirty -eight to forty-eight cents, or $18.24 to 
$24.96 per year. A floor of three or four rooms costs $37.44 
to $49.92 per year. Those of the employes who so desire are 
boarded by the mill company for sixty-five pfennige a day, 
or about fifteen cents. Breakfast and supper consist of two 
pieces of bread, and coffee. For dinner is served a soup, to- 
gether with the meat of the soup, bread, and one kind of vege- 
table, generally either potatoes or cabbage. These prices are 
low, and compensate in some degree for the poor wages. But 
do they compensate entirely? The following account will 
show in detail the income and cost of living of German mill 
operatives of the skilled and better class. The reader may 
judge for himself therefrom whether the low prices in G-ermany 
make proper compensation for the low wages. 

Family of German Mill Operatives. 

Family numbers five : parents, two children, and the mother of the fa- 
ther. 

Condition, — Occupy two rooms on second floor of cottage ; parents work 
in mills ; the grandmother looks after house and children ; family dress 
very plainly ; have few or no comforts. 



LIFE OF GEEMAN MILL OPERATIVES. 145 

Earnings of father per year flVY 00 

Earnings of mother per year 122 40 

Total earnings per year $299 40 

Diet. — Breakfast: black bread and coffee. Dinner: rye-bread, soup, 
bacon or soup-meat, potatoes, beer. Supper : black bread and coffee. 

Cost of Living : 

Per Day. Per Year. 

Bread 15 cents. $51 75 

Soups, meats, sausages, etc 5 " 18 25 

Coffee and chiccory 8f " 13 55 

Milk 8f " 1199 

Potatoes and cabbage 4 " 14 60 

Eggs IJ " 5 47 

Cheese and groceries of all kinds 2*1^ " 100 67 



Food costs five people 60 cents $216 28 

Kent 18 12 

Clothing 29 00 

Fuel and liglit 12 77 

Beer 37 60 



Total yearly cost of living for five persons $313 77 

Total income 299 40 



Showing a deficit of $14 37 

The German wor"kman spends a great deal on beer. It costs 
ten pfennige (2^ cents) a glass ; the host of the one saloon per- 
mitted in the settlement said each man averaged three half-quart 
glasses per day. I took dinner under the trees with the men. 
It was a sight to see them, seven hundred in all, every one with 
a foaming glass of beer. Several thousand glasses are consumed 
every day at this one factory. The word " Gemuethlich," which 
Germans so fondly declare has no rival or equivalent in any oth- 
er language, is simply a polite expression for *' bumming." No 
other one thing is so destructive of domestic happiness as this 
German custom called " Gemuethlichkeit." Almost every beer 
saloon has one or more private rooms cosily furnished with easy- 
chairs and tables. These rooms are rented to beer " Kneipers " 
(clubs). A beer club is easily formed. Ten or twelve neigh- 
bors agree to go once a week to the nearest saloon and drink 
1 



146 A TEAMP TRIP. 

as much beer as they can hold ; that is a beer " Kneiper." Ev- 
ery week, on the appointed evening, they go to the private room, 
sit around the table, smoke and drink beer until midnight, or 
even later; this is called " Gemuethlich " (sociable). There is 
no discussion of politics, of literature, of philosophy, no flow 
of wit — only a flow, one continuous flow, of beer. One man or- 
ders a round ; the glasses hold half a quart, but the last drop is 
drained and another of the party returns the first man's treat. 
A second round comes and goes. Another man feels called upon 
to respond to number two's treat, and so it continues until the 
whole party are heavy and boozy. 

This evil, far from abating, is increasing, and so rapidly that 
even the Germans themselves are becoming alarmed. In 1870 
there w^ere in Prussia alone 120,000 licensed saloons and 40,000 
public-houses where liquors were sold. In 1 880 the census showed 
an increase of 38 per cent. — in other words, the number of sa- 
loons had risen to upward of 200,000, and the average con- 
sumption of beer per day w^as four glasses for every man, wom- 
an, and child in the kingdom ! Twenty-seven per cent, of the 
male lunacy in Prussian asylums is attributed to drink. These 
are some of the direct effects of beer, admitted by all ; its in- 
direct effects may not be so readily seen or admitted, they are, 
nevertheless, as sure and injurious. Look at the distended 
paunch, the bloated face, the unnatural redness of the veins, the 
dull eye of the practised beer-drinker; consider his diseased 
liver, his fat, overlaid stomach, overworked kidneys, and it will 
occasion little surprise to learn that the average life of beer- 
drinkers is less than that of the non-beer drinkers — is less than 
thirty-three years. 

One night at Kuken the country singing-master arrived from 
a neighboring village. The members of the class went through 
their exercises in the hall of the public-house, accompanied by 
the teacher on a squeaky fiddle. At the close of the lesson my 
Dutchman sauntered up to the singing-master, and asked if he 
might look at his violin. The country musician eyed the Dutch- 
man's blouse, took him for some village clodhopper, and natu- 



147 

rally hesitated to trust bun with his beloved fiddle. But the 
Dutchman insisted, and gained his point. The astonishment 
that followed upon the apparent Handwerksbursch's first sweep 
of the strings is indescribable. As the flood of melody and 
harmony poured forth, the simple country master and factory- 
hand pupils sat breathless, drinking in the sounds in ecstasy. 
They realized that they were in the presence of a master. That 
Dutchman who had so often tormented me when on other mat- 
ters intent with his eternal whistling and humming, was one of 
the foremost violinists of Holland. Never had that old fiddle 
spoken so eloquently. The singing-master and his scholars 
called for an encore ; more beer was brought, and until far in 
the night the Dutchman stood there in his blouse, now melting 
with soft, melancholy strains, now firing his hearers with some 
wild gallop or Hungarian theme. The following night, at the 
singing - master^s earnest entreaty, a regular concert was ar- 
ranged ; w^hen we left the Kuken Fabrik it was in a blaze of 
glory. 

In Baden I bought some stamps and postal-cards. In Stutt- 
gart they were worthless. Stamps bought in Wurtemberg are 
not good in Bavaria. Wurtemberg, Baden, and Bavaria have 
their own money and their own postal services. They have, in 
addition to the emperor, local kings and dukes, which of course 
is a heavy burden on the people. For instance, Bavarians have 
not only to pay the old Kaiser Wilhelm, but their own mad 
king also — mad king, for such the present king is. His pred- 
ecessor, who so recently drowned himself, was the man who 
had an opera company all to himself, who built romantic cas- 
tles with subterranean passages, and battlements and moats and 
drawbridges in the style of the Middle Ages. Ludwig II.'s 
salary was 4,231,044 marks — about $1,100,000; but on that 
beggarly pittance he was utterly unable to meet his expenses ; 
only a short time before his suicide he found himself obliged 
to borrow $2,000,000 to pay some of his more pressing credit- 
ors. Notwithstanding his enormous debts, the king continued 
building castles to the last. That of Herrenchumsee, which 



{ 



148 



A TEAMP TEIP. 



was begun twelve years ago, has already cost upward of thirty 
million marks, yet it is hardly one-third of the way towards 
completion. Just before his death another castle, which was 
to be called *^ Falkenfels," was ordered. ^'Linderhof " is still 
another unfinished castle of Ludwig II. 

" For what purpose are these castles ?" asked a German paper 
bolder than the rest {The FranJcfurter Zeitung^ July 16, 1885). 
'' Where will it stop ? Who can tell whether there are not more 
projects for squandering money? What is the object of so 
many castles? They are built in so peculiar, so romantic a way 
that they will suit no other owner. They are constructed regard- 
less of expense, as if money were grabbed out of the air. The 
tradesmen creditors of the king have not been paid for ten years. 
Some of them are on the point of bankruptcy. The eight mill- 
ion loan served as a sop for a while, but what next? Will the 
State intervene? No minister will dare to introduce such a 
measure, and no chamber would support it. It is useless to 
hope for a change for the better ; the catastrophe is unavoida- 
ble, and such a catastrophe as Bavaria has never experienced 
before !" 

The catastrophe was avoided by the suicide of the mad king 
in June, 1886. The father of the present king was extravagant, 
but his extravagance was at least productive of a little good, 
was not all thrown away on useless castles. The art galleries 
and museums that ornament Munich are almost entirely due to 
the taste of King Lewis I., who died in 1868. In the Pinako- 
thek is a collection of some of the finest modern works of art. 
A large painting in that collection by Piloty ^ is entitled **Thus- 
nelda in the triumph of German icus." Tiberius is on the throne, 
a man of dark, treacherous, sinister look. Thusnelda, proud, 
haughty, unbroken, passes the throne head erect, her very atti- 
tude betokening defiance. Her boy, a little fellow of five or 
six, is by her side with dazed look, as if not knowing what to 
make of the strange men around him. In the background a 



* Died July, 1886. 



THE COUET BREWEEY IN MUNICH. 149 

Roman soldier is pulling the long beard of a German prisoner. 
Lying on the ground is a pile of captured arms and shields. 
The whole painting is admirable in design and execution. It 
is virtually a Roman triumph upon which you gaze — Varrus 
and his legions are avenged. 

In the same room and by the same artist is another striking 
painting — " Seni before the Corpse of Wallenstein." The grim 
old hero of the Thirty Years' War is lying on the floor of his 
study, the table-cover half pulled off, the books scattered, the 
globes overturned, indicating the violence and suddenness of 
the death. Seni the philosopher stands melancholy, as if lost 
in reverie, gazing at the dead body of his friend. The canvas 
is very large, the coloring and perspective so accurate, you feel 
you are really in the room and presence of the stern Wallen- 
stein. 

The Maxirailaneura contains thirty of the largest paintings 
in Germany. One represents the Battle of Arminius, where 
the Germans are overwhelming the Romans. On a knoll in 
the rear the women and old men are inciting the warriors to 
greater efforts. *'The Building of the Pyramids'' shows the 
swarthy Egyptians raising great blocks of stone by means of 
inclined planes and mechanical apparatuses. This painting is 
considered one of the finest in the collection. 

But Munich is celebrated not alone for its art. As a beer 
centre it has not its equal. The Court Brewery is nightly 
thronged by thirsty beer - drinkers. There are no w^aiters. 
You walk into the court-yard of the brewery, hang around a 
man who you think will soon be through with his glass, grab 
the glass when he has finished, take it to the pump, and wash 
it yourself ; then you are ready to get beer, if you can — if you 
can, because unless patient and strong you will not get any. 
The rush is like that in American cities on Sundays at the post- 
office. There is a cue ; you have to take your place, and only 
get your beer when your turn arrives. Once the possessor of a 
quart of the foaming liquid (quart jugs are the smallest used), 
you can go out to the court-yard, stand around, and look at the 



150 A TRAMP TRIP. 

crowd. I remained there one night until one o'clock watching 
a crowd of young men getting drunk. At first they were mere- 
ly hilarious — sang, rollicked, and playfully kicked off one an- 
other's hats ; then they became boozy, then sleepy, then dead 
drunk, and had finally to be put in cabs and carried away. The 
Court Brewery is only one of many such places in Munich. 

In the Munich Cemetery I saw a house full of corpses. One 
whole side of the house was of glass, through which the ghast- 
ly inmates were plainly visible. The dead in one section were 
surrounded with flowers and wreaths ; in the other section 
there were no wreaths, no flowers, only plain biers devoid of 
all trimmings or trappings. The one was the section of the 
rich, the other was for the poor. The. corpses in both sections 
are connected with electric bells ; the slightest movement rings 
an alarm and arouses attendants. The dread of being buried 
alive prevails, and every corpse must lie in this house twenty- 
four hours before burial. A crowd of curious, morbid people 
constantly surround the windows and flatten their noses against 
the glass walls, gazing at the ghastly scene within. I asked a 
Munich physician if any one had ever been saved by these pre- 
cautions. 

"Yes, though not often," was the reply. **Once the body 
of a man lay there nineteen hours without a motion, then sud- 
denly his hands twitched, the bells instantly rang, and he was 
saved. He lived several years after that. As a rule, those 
who come to life again live only a short time. In their en- 
feebled state they cannot withstand the shock of waking up 
and finding themselves surrounded by the dead." 

This same doctor mentioned an incident occurring in his 
practice which illustrates the superstition of the lower classes. 
A peasant had broken his arm, and the doctor put it in a splint- 
board. The arm having healed, the doctor called one day for 
his splints. They were gone. The peasant stammered, hemmed 
and hawed, that was all. He either could not or would not pro- 
duce the boards. Some six months afterwards, happening to 
be in the village church, what was the doctor's surprise to see 



ANECDOTES OF BAVARIAN PEASANTRY. 151 

on the altar his old splint-boards, painted and decorated with 
this inscription : 

"OFFERING OF HERMANN SCHWEBEL, WHO WAS SAVED BY THE 
HELP OF DR. F AND THE VIRGIN MARY." 

It is the custom among the Bavarian peasantry for a father, 
on becoming old, to turn over his hut and few acres of ground 
to his married sons ; the sons in their turn are obligated to 
give their father a lodging-place, and food and drink. This, 
said Dr. F., the Bavarian sons often do most grudgingly. In 
one case the old father fell a victim to small-pox. The sons 
deserted him, and the priest they sent to minister to his spir- 
itual wants was afraid of the disease and dared not enter the 
door. Standing without the window, he shouted, " You are 
forgiven of all your sins !" and returned to the village. For 
such louts the discipline of the German army seems a good 
thing. In the three years they serve, a little of the boorish- 
ness is drubbed and beaten out of them. The soldiers are 
often detailed to act as servants to officers. In America that 
is forbidden by law ; the law, however, does not amount to 
much. When a guest of Colonel Henry at Fort Sill, Indian 
Territory, I learned that the officers' cooks and waiters were 
soldiers. 

" The inspector stopped v>^ith me once," said Colonel Henry, 
"and when he saw I had a soldier for a cook he made a big 
to do — called me at once to order. I said nothing, simply sent 
my waiters and cooks to the barracks. The next morning 
when the inspector came down to breakfast there was no 
coffee, no beefsteak — no anything excepting cheese and soda- 
crackers. The inspector had much consideration for the inner 
man. His heart fell at sight of the meagre breakfast. 

" Colonel," he said, while munching a dry cracker — " colonel, 
I think you had better send for your cooks." 

" I did, and I never heard any farther objection about hiring 
soldiers for domestic duties." 

A church in Munich has a Hass case in which is the skele- 



152 A TRAMP TRIP. 

ton of a saint decked v^^itli diamonds, rubies, and pearls. In 
the palace of tbe king is a bed of tbe fifteenth century which 
cost $400,000, and required forty persons ten years to make. 
In the museum is the faded purple coat, the saddle, pistols, and 
walking-cane of Frederick the Great. 

These are a few of the curiosities of the Bavarian capital. 



IN A SALT-MINE. 153 



CHAPTER XVII. 

IK A SALT-MINE. — TWO THOUSAND FEET UNDER THE EARTH. — 
TROUBLES OP A PEDESTRIAN IN AUSTRIA. — I PERFORM IN THE 
OPERA BEFORE AUSTRIA'S EMPEROR. ~A GRATIFYING SUCCESS. 

The finest church music I ever heard was in Salzburg, Aus- 
tria. StrolHng through the town early one Sunday morning, I 
passed the cathedral, heard music, and entered. It was grand. 
The choir contained fiddles, flutes, and harps; the volume of 
sound increased and swelled until the vast edifice was filled 
with melody from floor to vaulted roof and lofty dome. It was 
while listening to that grand music that I remembered that I 
was in the birth-town of Mozart. A statue of the great com- 
poser is in the square opposite the cathedral ; elsewhere in 
the town the tourist is shown two houses in which he was 
born. 

A charge is made for showing these houses. Mozart, while 
he was about it, should have been born in a dozen houses, and 
thus still further added to the revenues of his native Salz- 
burg. 

The Hallein salt-mines near Salzburg are among the most 
noted in Europe. The Romans once worked these mines, and 
from first to last it is probable they have yielded upward of 
a million tons of salt. The whole mountain is honeycombed 
with tunnels and passages, which every year are extended deep- 
er and deeper. The visitor to the bottom of the mine must 
now go some two thousand feet below the level of the top of 
the mountain. 

I walked there one day from Salzburg, and paid three florins 
to go through the mines. A curious costume was provided for 
the trip. First I was put into a baggy suit of sail-cloth ; then 
a heavy fez was clapped on my head. A thick piece of sole 



\ 



154 A TEAMP TRIP. 

leather was next tied around my middle, and finally a pair of 
heavy leather gloves were fastened on my hands. The reason 
for this singular outfit was at first not apparent ; it soon be- 
came so. After going about a mile through a horizontal pas- 
sage five feet high by three wide, my conductor suddenly made 
a turn, and I found myself at the head of a steep, sloping shaft, 
the only means of descent down which was by a sliding skid. A 
rope lay along-side the skid. Grasping this rope serves as a 
brake, thus checking the rapidity of the descent. Like a pair of 
school-boys sliding down ballusters, we took our places^ the 
guide going first. Soon we were whirling down that black 
and fearful shaft at a rate that almost made my hair stand on 
end. I griped the rope for dear life ; the friction was too 
much even for the thick leather glove I wore : it burned my 
hand and I was compelled to relax my grasp. When finally 
I shot on to the landing one thousand five hundre-d feet below, 
I thought I was going at a velocity of sixty miles an hour! 
Fortunately, no bones were broken ; I was able to pick my- 
self up and view the enchanting scene that surrounded me. 
It seemed like dreamland ! A subterranean lake illuminated 
by a thousand lights ! We were ferried across this lake ; then 
came a short slide of only a few hundred feet, and we were at 
the very bottom of the mine, under the lake and under the 
mountain. 

Notwithstanding the nature and astonishing rapidity of the 
descent, two thousand feet into the very bowels of the earth, I 
had time to wonder how the ascent was to be made. The 
greased pole of the country picnic would be easy compared 
with those slick, almost perpendicular slides. How were we 
to get out ? 

The question was very pleasantly answered. After walking 
around the bottom of the mine, looking at the w^ay the men 
got out the salt, my guide conducted me. to where two men 
w^ere in waiting with a singular conveyance. It was a narrow 
board about ten feet long, raised a couple of feet above the 
ground and fixed to four small wheels. The guide straddled 



COST OF LIVING OF AN AUSTRIAN MINER. 155 

this board, I did likewise. A lamp to serve as Lead-light wag 
strapped on the guide's breast ; then the two men, one in the 
rear, one in front, shoved and pushed the board-wagon along 
at a dangerous pace, considering the darkness and narrowness 
of the passage. 

Through miles of crooked galleries they ran. Fearful of 
losing my balance, I clasped my arms around the guide in 
front of me, almost afraid to breathe lest I might topple over 
and dash my brains out against the salty walls. At last a 
speck of light became faintly visible in the dim distance. It 
grew larger, still larger, until finally the speck of light became 
an opening, and w^e emerged once again into the world and the 
light and day. 

We had entered at the summit, we were now at the base of 
the mountain. The men slide down to their work in the 
morning, and when through, slide clear down to the bottom 
of the mine and leave by way of the horizontal shaft. 

The mines are, of course, damp and dark. Indeed, the mere 
going and returning from work involves a considerable amount 
of labor. The wages for such work should be good. I made 
inquiries, and found that an able-bodied miner averages only 
forty-five kreutzers (about twenty-one cents) a "turn'' of six 
hours. The following extract from my note-book will show 
the condition of the average miner at Hallein : 

Austrian Miner, 

Family numbers three : parents and small child. 

Condition. — Occupy one room in a tenement-house ; the father works 
in six-hour shifts in salt-mines — six hours on and six off ; the mother dpes 
a little work on hand-loom, most of time attends to house and baby. 

Per Day. Per Year. 

Earnings of the father 40 cents $134 80 

Earnino^s of the mother 20 '* 60 40 



Total earnings 60 cents $195 40 

Diet. — Breakfast : black bread and coffee. Dinner : black bread, beer, 
and potatoes ; in winter, sauerkraut, and occasionally a bit of salt pork or 
bacon. Supper : black bread and coffee. 



156 A TRAMP TEIP. 

Cost of Living : 

Per Day. Per Year. 

Bread 9 cents. $32 85 

Coifee H " 9 12 

Milk 21- *' 9 12 

Beer 8 '' 29 20 

Potatoes 15 '' 18 25 

Groceries of all other kinds 14 " 51 10 



Food costs three people 41 cents $149 64 

Rent at three florins per month 14 40 

Clothing (92 florins) 26 80 

Incidentals of all kinds, including fuel, light, religion, etc 12 50 ' 

Total yearly cost of living $203 34 

I will g'lye an other itemized statement of the income and ex- 
penses of a vvorldng-man's family, this time for a family of nail- 
workers living in one of the Danube villages west of Vienna. 

Austrian Nail-makers. 

Family numbers eight : parents, boy aged fifteen, boy aged fourteen, 
four children from four to twelve years of age. 

Condition. — Occupy one room in a miserable, ill-smelling house; room 
is close, no ventilation. Straw mattresses are spread on floor at night ; in 
day-time are removed, and room converted into workshop. All the older 
members of family vrork at nail -making, averaging thirteen hours per 
day. General condition is one of abject poverty. 

Per Week. Per Year. 

Earnings of father $2 44 $126 88 

Earnings of boy of fifteen 1 00 50 84 

Earnings of all other members of family. . . 1 14 59 28 

Total earnings $4 68 , 

Cost of Living : 

Per Day. 

Bread 23|- cents 

Potatoes and cabbage 8^ " 

Coffee 4 " 

Milk 3 " 

Bacon and sausage 3|- " 

Groceries of all kinds, as soap, starch, 

' sugar, etc., and beer 2f- " 



$233 


20 


Per Year. 


$85 V8 


31 


02 


14 


56 


10 


95 


12 48 


45 


36 



Food CQSt eight people 55 cents $200 15 



HIGH TARIFFS IN GERMANY. 157 

Cost of Living^ continued: 

Per Year. 

Brought forward -. ' $200 15 

Rent (at $1.24 a month) U 88 

Clothing 19 25 

Various incidentals , 9 00 

Total yearly cost of living for eight persons $243 28 

Total income 236 20 

Showing a deficit of. $7 08 

The reader will doubtless conclude from these instances, as I 
did from personal observation, that the German mechanic and 
laborer receive miserably insufficient wages; that they live hud- 
dled in close, crowded quarters ; that they work too many 
hours and have too little to eat — that, in short, their life is 
one of hopeless, unceasing drudgery. 

My Protectionist friends had said that high tariffs made high 
wages. 

What a pity, I thought, that they do not communicate to 
the German Government this simple secret of prosperity. 

I called on a prominent official to inquire in the matter. 
The official said : 

"Germany a free -trade country? Not a bit of it! Our 
tariffs are very high. The duty on pig-iron is $2.50 per ton, 
about twenty per cent. ; on bar-iron it is three times as high, 
or sixty per cent. On manufactured iron goods a duty is lev- 
ied of from $7.50 to $37.50 per ton. On cotton goods two- 
eighths of a cent per pound is levied ; on woollen goods it goes 
as high as sixty-five cents a pound. Eeady-made wearing ap- 
parel is taxed over a dollar a potmd ; so are ornamental feath- 
ers and thread-lace. Asses are taxed $2.38 a head." 

Somehow the high tariffs do not succeed in making wages 
high in Germany or Austria. 

On emerging from the salt-mines, I walked over to Berchtes- 
gaden and to the Koenigsee, one of the wildest and grandest 
regions in Europe. The lake is hemmed in on every side by 
lofty mountains, rising for the most part precipitously from 
the water's edo;e. When the boatman fired a huo^e blunder- 



158 A TRAMP TKIP. 

buss of a pistol, the noise and reverberation was as that of 

thunder. 

" Far along 
From peak to peak the rattling crags among, 
Leaps the live thunder." 

The sound dies away ; you think it is over; when lo ! some 
still more distant crag takes it up ; it comes back again and 
again, every time fainter, less distinct — like the dying rumble 
of retreating thunder. 

The villages between Salzburg and Linz, on the Danube, are 
not of an inviting character. Passports are very frequently 
demanded in Austria, and more than once did my lack of the 
proper papers occasion trouble. One little town that I entered 
about nine o'clock at night, after a thirty-mile tramp, possessed 
just three inns. At each I sought a lodging-place, and at each 
was refused because I had *' keine Schriften " (no passport). 
The hour was late, I was worn and weary. To walk to the 
next village, possibly only to meet a similar reception, was out 
of the question. I determined to fall back on my friends, the 
peasantry. I saw a light through an open window. A man 
and some women and children were sittino; at a rouo'h table 
drinking beer. I boldly approached them. 

" Meine Herrschaften, ich bin Amerikaner. Ich habe keine 
Schriften. — I am American. I have no papers, but I have a 
little money. They will not take me at the inn. Can you 
give me a place to sleep ? I will give you thirty kreutzers." 

They all stared at me. 

" Ei, Platz genug auf dem Boden " (plenty room in the 
loft), said the mother, and so it was arranged. 

The loft in the high gable-roof was reached by a rickety 
ladder. My fat old hostess went ahead with a tallow candle to 
light the way. A pile of straw was heaped in one corner. 

" Koennen dort schlafen " (can sleep there), said the old 
woman, and with a grunt turned and descended the ladder. 

It was pitch dark. Fortunately, in my knapsack there were 
a few matches and a candle ; I soon had a light. Hardly two 



1 PERFORM BEFORE AUSTRIA'S EMPEROR. 159 

minutes elapsed wlien up bobbed the head of my hostess again, 
panting and blowing like a porpoise. She was in a state of 
extreme excitement. 

*^ Was dann," she cried, " you want people to know we take 
you in ? Mein Gott, it cost us zehn Gulden !" and with a big 
puff she extinguished my light and left me to find my straw 
couch in the darkness. 

In another village I paid two cents extra for a promise that 
the other bed in my room should not be rented. It was swel- 
tering hot. In the vain hope of keeping cool, I removed every 
article of clothing before going to bed. About nine o'clock a 
stout peasant-woman entered, eyed me coolly as I lay in my 
airy garb, then proceeded to put herself in a similar state of 
nature. In a few minutes she was peacefully sleeping, while 
I lay thinking wdiat strange bedfellows pedestrianism throws 
together. 

I arrived in Vienna at 6 p.m. on the emperor's birthday. 
At the Imperial Opera-house Verdi's **Aida" was to be given. 
The emperor himself was to be there. The occasion was one 
it would not do to miss. I hastened to the Opera-house only 
to learn that, with the exception of a few five and ten gulden 
places, there were no seats Jeft. What was to be done ? A 
brilliant idea occurred to me. 

*^The emperor has never seen me act," I thought, "Why 
not let him have that pleasure to-night ?" 

In the opera of "Aida" an Egyptian army is represented on 
the stage. Several hundred *' supes " are required. It was now 
6.45 P.M. There was no time to lose. Eepairing from the 
ticket-office to the rear of the building, I joined the line of 
"supes" that had formed at the stage door. Pedestrianism 
makes one bronzed and sun -burnt — the very thing for an 
Egyptian soldier. I was at once taken by the manager at a 
salary of forty kreutzers the night. 

Modesty forbids my speaking of the glorious success of my 
first appearance on the imperial boards of the Austrian capital. 
I will merely say that as I passed in review bearing aloft the 



160 A TKAMP TRIP. 

banner of the good King Rameses, my heart swelled with pride 
at the warm approbation of Austria's emperor. Of course, as 
it was my first attempt at opera, I could not help being aware 
that his applause was mostly given to me. It was gratifying. 

Vienna is truly an imperial city. The Ring Strasse, which, 
encircles the old original city — the city the Turks used to be- 
siege — is built up with a collection of public and private build- 
ings which, for solid, imposing magnificence, are not excelled 
even in Paris. The Prater-Stern quite rivals anything of the 
kind in the French capital. Here, where twenty years ago 
were fields and woods, are now thousands of houses, beer-gar- 
dens, concert-halls, theatres, etc. Every afternoon and evening 
the avenue is thronged by all classes and grades of humanity, 
from the emperor down to the scullion and chamber-maid off 
on a half-holiday. 

There are Punch-and-Judy shows, "Flying Dutchmen," ten- 
kreutzer museums, shooting-galleries, and a hundred other catch- 
penny places of amusement. It is here that the " lady " or- 
chestra is seen in its native lair. Vienna was the originator of 
that institution. The players are selected not so much for 
their musical ability as for their beauty. Result — it is much 
pleasanter to look at a Vienna " damen capelle " (lady orches- 
tra) than to listen to one. The leader of one band that I used 
to go to see — I mean, to hear — was a dark brunette with wavy 
hair, and a pair of the prettiest dancing black eyes I ever saw. 
The bass fiddler was also a comely lass. Unluckily, the fiddle 
was as large as she was, and almost hid her from view. 

In the basement of the Capuchin Church are the sarcophagi 
of Maria Theresa, Joseph IL, and others of the imperial house 
of Austria. Externally the church is gloomy-looking; inter- 
nally it is positively funereal. The great lead or bronze coffins 
(of the material I am not certain) are stowed away in a dark 
basement. The monk who accompanies visitors gives in a sol- 
emn monotone the names of the dead, when they died, and who 
they were. Among the rest I noted the coffin of Maria Louisa 
and the young Duke of Reichstadt. What stories lie buried in 



THE CRADLE OF TUE DUKE OP EEICHSTADT. 161 

those two leaden boxes ! When Napoleon was storming Vien- 
na with shot and shell Maria Louisa lay sick in her palace. 
That sick girl afterwards became the mother of his only son. 
Mother and son were banished from Paris, and now lie side by 
side in the gloomy Capuchin Church of Vienna. The father 
lies a thousand miles away in his gorgeous mausoleum in Paris. 
I stood over the coffin, read the inscription, thumped the hol- 
low case, and wondered if I really was within a few inches of 
the skeletons of Napoleon's wife and son. Shortly afterwards 
I saw the cradle of the Duke of Reichstadt. It is a short dis- 
tance from cradle to coffin. The cradle is in the Treasury Mu- 
seum, only two blocks from the funereal church of the Capu- 
chins. 

The cradle is ornamented with pearls ; the canopy is of the 
richest satin, the trimmings are gold. Oft has Napoleon bent 
over that cradle, building grand air-castles for his son and heir. 
Little did the poor, second-rate Corsican lawyer, Charles Bona- 
parte, dream that his son would be emperor of the French, the 
mightiest man of his age ; and in turn, little did the mightiest 
man of his age dream that his son would die unwept, unmourn- 
ed, in a foreign land, not even known to the French whose em- 
peror he expected him to be ! 



162 A TRAMP TRIP. 



CHAPTER XYIII. 

DOWN THE DANUBE.—- BIG WORDS IN HUNGARY. — ABSURD DRESS OF 
THE PEASANTS.— MUD AND MINERAL BATHS.— THROUGH BULGARIA 
ON FOOT. — OUT OF FUNDS. — LOOKING FOR WORK. 

A FEW miles from Vienna the traveller down tbe Danube 
passes the island of Lobaii. Here, in 1809, Napoleon and bis 
army of 150,000 men were locked for five da3^s. It was a bad 
box, the swift Danube on both sides and the Austrians waiting 
to get at him ; but the great captain was equal to the emergen- 
cy. He threw bridges across the river, beat the enemy at 
Wagram, and came out victor where defeat had seemed inevita- 
ble. From my place in the prow of the boat I saw traces of 
the French fortifications. 

The boat landed at Buda-Pesth at nine o'clock. I at once set 
out in search of a cheap hotel. It was hard to find one. The 
Exposition was in progress, every place was full. I was finally 
forced to content myself with a bed in the attic of a second- 
rate inn, having to pay therefor the extortionate price of one 
gulden — forty cents — the highest price I had yet paid in Eu- 
rope. 

The inhabitants of Bada-Pesth do not seem to bear the 
Austrians much love. They have their own coin, their own 
parliament, their own post-ofiice department, and in general ap- 
pear to have little in common with Austria. All the streets 
are marked with Hungarian names, the German equivalents 
having been removed a year or two ago by order of the gov- 
ernment — a patriotic action, perhaps, but hard on strangers. 
For instance, such names stare one in the face as, 

" Szakirodalom,'' " Tejgazdasagj," " Varoshazter," " Wlasz- 
lovitsj." 



ABSURD DRESS OF HUNGARIAN PEASANTS. 163 

The great market of tlie Hungarian capital is held on tlie 
bank of tlie Danube in front of the city. The situation is 
highly picturesque. Frowning guns look down from the fortress 
on the hill opposite, seven hundred feet high ; near by is the 
palace of Maria Theresa ; at either end of the city are the grace- 
ful arches of two great bridges. In the early morning the 
peasants begin to arrive from the country, usually bringing their 
wares on their backs, and spreading them out on the rough 
stones of the levee to await purchasers. The men wear an odd 
kind of dress : the skirt, of some coarse cotton material, falling 
just below the knee, and a slouch hat and jacket of coarse white 
stuff. Some have their legs swathed in cloth up to the knee, 
a thick piece of leather being strapped under the foot a la 
sandal ; the majority, however, go barefoot and barelegged. 
This is the every-day costume; their dress for feast-days is 
more gaudy. The greasy hat that has been in use perhaps ten 
years is replaced by a more fashionable affair only two or three 
years old, and decked with a gaudy rooster feather ; the short 
jacket is of some bright-colored material, red, blue, or green ; 
the knee-skirt is gayly trimmed. Altogether, the Hungarian 
peasant presents a novel spectacle when attired in his holiday 
dress. 

The Hungarian w^oraen also w^ear short dresses. When they 
wear any kind of foot-gear it is generally high boots. A red tur- 
ban-like covering is worn on the head. Every morning by ten 
o'clock a thousand or more of these queer-looking people are 
collected on the river-bank. The men, with their dresses and 
feathers and greasy hats, stroll about chatting and flirting with 
the barelegged, red-cheeked w^omen — apparently never in a 
hurry, never seeming to have much business on hand. They look 
as though they had a thousand years before them as well as be- 
hind them. I bought some pears of a woman. She handed me 
back change. This act w^as not astonishing, but the manner 
in which she did it was astonishing. Her pocket was on the 
inner side of her dress ; to get at it she lifted her dress con- 
siderably above her waist. Afterwards in other markets the 



164 A TKAMP TEIP. 

same thing occurred. I came to the conclusion that the women 
of the lower classes in Hungary are not sticklers for the rules 
of propriety. 

In the celebrated mineral baths, maintained at expense of the 
Hungarian government, I saw men and women bathing togeth- 
er, no clothing of any kind and not the slightest sign of embar- 
rassment among either sex. There were seventy or a hundred 
bathers in the pool at the time of my visit ; about half of that 
number were women. While I was looking on, a young peas- 
ant-girl came in. She gave one glance at me, then proceeded 
to undress as unconcernedly as if I had been blind or a thou- 
sand miles away. She hung her clothes on a hook and waded 
out into the pool ; there she splashed about in the water with 
the men, women, and children. I visited the mud baths. The 
water was almost as thick as mush. The bathers sit in that 
dirty slime hours at a time. It reminded me of the backwoods 
in America, where one sees hogs wallowing in mud. 

The Exposition which was in progress at Buda-Pesth afforded 
an insight into the nature of the resources and products of 
Hungary. In articles made by hand they seem abreast with 
the age ; where machinery is concerned they appear to be back- 
ward. There were no steam-ploughs, no steam brick-machines, 
weaving apparatuses, printing-presses, etc. Steam-ploughs and 
threshers seem almost unknown in Europe. I saw none in 
Spain, Italy, Switzerland, Germany, or Austria. In Russia I saw 
an American reaper. This was the nearest approach to the ad- 
vanced American style of agricultural machinery that I saw in 
all Europe. Another thing in which Europe is behind America 
is in her newspapers. Vienna, for instance, a city as large as 
New York, has not a single paper as large, or with half the 
news, editorials, or general literature, as will be found in the 
papers of small American towns. One reason of this, perhaps, 
is the unwieldiness of their language. The words are so big it 
is a hopeless task to attempt to give much news in one sheet. 
As a sample of the intricate and involved style that the Ger- 
mans love, I translate a sentence from a story which I read in 



THROUGH BULGARIA ON FOOT. 165 

Biida-Pesth. I translate literally, word for word, in tlie order 
in wliicli they come : 

*^ And as the horse-dealer to him without him to answer the 
letter handed so clapped this worthy man to whom the shame- 
ful injustice which one at Tronkenburg upon him practised had 
on which consequences Herse even perhaps for the lifetime sick 
there lay, known was, upon the shoulder, and said to him," etc.* 

The author starts out to say that a worthy man clapped a 
horse-dealer on the shoulder. He got his verb in at the right 
place, but the poor shoulder had to wait a long time to be 
clapped. 

The fare from Buda-Pesth to Constantinople (second-class) 
is one hundred and ninety-one Austrian florins — seventy-six 
dollars and forty cents. I had less than sixty dollars in my 
pocket, yet I determined to make the trip. Steerage on the 
Danube to Eustschuck costs six dollars. Thence I could walk 
throuQ:h Bulo'aria to Varna on the Black Sea. Steerao-e from 
Varna to Constantinople costs two dollars and eighty cents. 
In this way transportation was to cost, all told, only eight dol- 
lars and eighty cents, leaving ample funds for living and seeing 
the country on the way. I bought ten pounds of bread, some 
cheese and sausage, and set out on the trip. 

The departure from Buda-Pesth was at night. The long line 
of lights on both sides of the river twinkled and reflected on 
the water. The grim fortress loomed up from its lofty height 
black and forbidding. We bade the city good-by in silence, 
for the hour was late, and few people were astir as the boat 
glided from its moorings. "When at midnight the lights of the 
Hungarian capital had completely faded away in the distance, 

* The above sentence is from an historical romance called '* Michael 
Kohlhaas.'' The sentence in the original runs thus : 

" Und da der Roszhaendler ihm, ohne ihm zu antworten, den Brief ueber- 
reichte, so klopf te dieser wuerdige Mann, dem die abscheuliche Ungerecht- 
igkeit, die man auf der Tronkenburg an ihm veruebt hatte, an deren Folge 
Herse eben, vielleicht auf die Lebenszeit, krank danieder lag, bekannt war, 
auf die Schulter und sa";te ihm," etc. 



166 A TRAMP TRIP. 

I bethought myself of a place wherein to pass the night. The 
company was not select, the choice was not of two evils, but of 
a hundred. Bulgarian shepherds, Spanish Jews, Turks, Rus- 
sians, Hungarians, and a dozen other nationalities, crowded the 
boat and disturbed the still night air with the Babel of many 
tongues. The best corners were already occupied, and I was 
forced to content myself with a space on the upper deck. The 
boards of the deck did not prove a soft bed, yet I could have 
slept there peacefully enough had not the Fates disturbed me. 
The moon became obscured by clouds, the wind increased, and 
about two o'clock in the morning the big drops of rain came 
dancing on my face. The balance of the night I spent down- 
stairs under the cook's table, surrounded by my fellow-passen- 
gerso Of the lot, the Bulgarian shepherds looked the strangest 
and wildest. They dress, if not in skins, in something very like 
skins. A coarse white sail-cloth serves as a cloak ; sail-cloth 
breeches come to their knees; to their feet are attached by 
leather thongs the rudest sort of sandals. . They eat black bread 
and raw bacon, a diet at which the American plantation darkey, 
even in the days of slavery, w^ould have rebelled. This coarse 
food seems to agree very well with these shaggy Bulgarian fel- 
lows. The bag which they carry slung over their shoulder in- 
variably contains a huge hunk of raw bacon. The great pones 
of black bread are bought every two or three days as needed. 

The Danube presents various sorts of scenery. From Linz 
to Vienna there are high hills, ruins, castles, curious towns. 
From Vienna to Buda-Pesth the same on a smaller scale. From 
Buda-Pesth on, the river winds its way through the vast Hunga- 
rian plains, where all is flat and dreary. Both the banks and 
the water are very muddy. One is at a loss to imagine Strauss'^s 
reason for calling his waltz the "Blue Danube." If he had 
styled it the " muddy " or the " yellow " Danube it would have 
been more in keeping with the truth. There is no sign of *^ blue- 
ness" in the Danube from its source in Germany to its mouth 
at the distant Black Sea. 

At intervals along this part of the journey the river is dotted 



167 

with floating "mill-villages" — small houses built on boats an- 
chored a hundred yards or so from the shore. The current 
turns the \vheels in a languid way ; this suits the miller, for 
people in those parts are languid, and do things in a languid 
way. Whenever we passed settlements of these out-of-the-way 
places, the millers ran to their doors and stared at us while we 
stared at them. They were worth staring at. Half-naked, cov- 
ered with flour, and with strange, Slavonic faces, they never 
ceased to attract my interest and attention. 

The cook's table was protected by only a leaky tarpaulin, 
and the steady rain which set in on the second night proved 
too much for it. The water leaked through, trickled on my 
face, down my neck, and I got up and retired to the hold, which, 
though too crowded to afford even a seat, was at least dry, and 
presented an interesting array of queer characters. A band of 
gypsies had been taken on at some way-landing. They spent 
their time sitting cross-legged like the Turks, pufiing villanous- 
smelling cigarettes. The women passed their time in the same 
way. With their deep-set eyes, haggard faces, and sallow com- 
plexions, they were rather uncanny objects to look upon. They 
wore fezes of coarse cloth, ornamented by long horse-hair tas- 
sels. During almost the entire three days that they remained 
on board, these queer people kept in this squatting posture, puff- 
ing their cigarettes and toying with their horse-hair tassels. 
Before curling up at night, and on uncurling in the morning, 
the members of the band saluted one another with kisses. Their 
tobacco-stained mouths seemed fit for almost anything rather 
than kissing. 

After Buda-Pesth, the first city worthy the name is Belgrade, 
the capital of Servia. Here one begins to note clearly the re- 
ceding tide of Turkish power. There are Turkish mosques and 
minarets, but they are dilapidated, and decaying from neglect. 
There are Turkish inhabitants, but they look meek and dispir- 
ited. It is no temporary decline; it is a decline forever. It 
has taken a long time to effect this result. In 1521 the city 
fell into the hands of the Turks. In 1688, one hundred and six- 



168 A TRAMP TRIP. 

ty-seven years after, Maximilian of Bavaria besieged the city 
with half a hundred thousand men, and restored it to Christian 
rule. Two years later, however, it again fell into the hands of 
the Turks. They kept it about twenty years, then had to yield 
it to Austria. In 1739 they took it again, keeping it this time 
upward of fifty years, when they lost it for the short term of 
three years, after which they remained in undisturbed posses- 
sion nntil 1807. In that year there was an uprising of the peo- 
ple, and Turkey was successfully withstood for ^ve years. In 
1812 Turkey again bobbed up serenely, and this time kept the 
upperhand until 1867, when, at the intervention of Austria, the 
Turks were compelled to give up Belgrade, w^iich they had held 
off and on since the time of Solyman IT., in 1521. 

This city, which has so long been the bone of contention be- 
tween Christian and Turk, is now the capital of Servia. It 
stands on a high bluff overlooking the Danube. From its long 
Turkish occupancy it still presents an Oriental appearance. The 
promenade along the river-front is daily thronged with a crowed 
of loungers, for the most part attired in Turkish and Oriental 
costumes. 

The lower classes In Servia seem to live somewhat after the 
communistic plan. A number of persons ranging from ten to 
seventy band together, forming what is called a **Zadrouga." 
A head or chief is chosen by vote of the Zadrouga, each adult 
male having one vote, and this chief allots the land and specifies 
to each one the work he shall do, A father generally lives with 
his married sons, cultivating the land or performing other work 
as the chief may direct. Women are treated with contempt, 
being regarded as slaves, and rarely spoken to by the masculine 
members of a family. Five acres of land are exempt from seiz- 
ure for debt. There is a primary school for every three thou- 
sand inhabitants. In time of peace the standing army is limited 
to seventeen thousand men. Citizens are permitted by law to 
carry arms. These are a few of the privileges enjoyed by this 
Eastern people. 

At Nicopolis I saw the remains of the fortifications thrown 



MOHACS — THE KAZAN PASS. 169 

np by the Russians in 1877. A heavy storm of shot and shell 
was hurled at the city, and the garrison of six thousand men 
very soon capitulated. Plevna is directly south of Nicopolis, dis- 
tant only twenty or twenty-five miles. The heavy battles which 
took place in this vicinity during the Russian-Turkish war of 
1877-78 are still remembered by the public. 

A day out from Buda-Pcsth Mohacs is passed — the scene of 
Hungarian disaster and Turkish triumph. It was here, near 
this town in a swamp, that King Lewis 11. perished in 1526. 
The Hungarians were routed, and their country for more than 
a century remained under the Turkish yoke. In 1687, in the 
same place, near Mohacs, the Hungarians again met the Turks 
in battle-array, and this time it was the Turk who was beaten. 
He was compelled to retreat, and Hungary ruled herself once 
again. Thus historically Mohacs is interesting; intrinsically 
it is dull and tiresome. It is a miserable-looking place, in a 
swampy region reminding one of the swampy Mississippi bot- 
toms during an overflow. It is not until the Kazan Pass is 
reached that the scenery becomes really grand. The shores 
grow more rocky, the river more narrow and confined, until at 
length the Danube enters the defile, only one liundred and eighty 
yards wide. The precipitous mountains shoot abruptly from 
the water's edge to the dizzy height of two thousand feet. There 
are constant turns in the river; one moment it seems as if the 
vessel is locked, in on every side by stupendous walls; then, 
just as you catch your breath, expecting the prow of the boat 
to dash into the granite bluff, there is a sharp turn, and you 
glide into another section of the river which appears like an- 
other lake. After the days of dull, monotonous mud-banks, 
this wild scenery strikes the traveller as peculiarly grand and 
beautiful. 

Eighteen hundred years ago the Roman emperor Trajan 
built a road along the Danube. Where the rocks rise so pre- 
cipitously from the water, holes were drilled in the granite 
walls, beams were fastened in the holes, and the road wound 
its way through the wild defile supported by these jutting 
8 



170 A TEAMP TKIP. 

beams. The holes for the beams are still there. The boat 
passes so near the blu£[ that the observing traveller can see the 
inscription which Trajan ordered to be made in the rock to 
commemorate his war with the Dacians. 

At Turn-Severin the boat tied np all night, and advantage 
was taken of the opportunity to get glimpses of a typical Rou- 
manian city. The town was a mile or so from the river. The 
night was very dark, but there was not the slightest difficulty 
in finding the way. A dozen bugles were blowing the signals 
for bed ; the sound floated to me from the barracks, and guided 
my steps to the town. 

Turn-Severin is a primitive-looking place. The houses are 
all white, are only one story high, resembling somewhat the 
houses in Mexico. The people also have a Mexicanish look — 
swarthy, yellow complexions, black hair, dark eyes. I stopped 
in a grocery to replenish my stock of provisions ; the proprie- 
tor spoke only Greek, and I left. At other groceries Rouma- 
nian, Bulgarian, Turkish, and similar third-rate languages were 
fired at me, but no English. With the exception of a little 
German, the Turn-Severinites know as little of the world-lan- 
guages as do the Turks. I was finally obliged to abbreviate 
my wants, and negotiate for those few by shrugs and signs. I 
bought several loaves of bread, paid for them in leu and bani, 
the money of the country, and went on my way rejoicing. 

A detachment of Bulgarian soldiers boarded the steamer at 
Widdin, and from that time on the voyage was extremely un- 
comfortable. Every foot of space was taken up by either the 
soldiers or the other steerage passengers of whom I have spoken. 
There was no place to lie down. I passed the time talking witli 
one of the soldiers who had been to Vienna and knew a little 
German. He told me the Bulgarian field-hands get forty to 
sixty cents a day; bricklayers, carpenters, etc., from eighty 
cents to a dollar. These wages are higher than in Germany 
or Italy. The difference, however, is only in appearance, for 
the cost of living is dearer. One dollar will go no further in 
Bulgaria than sixty or seventy cents will go in Italy. 



rustschuck: its woe-begone appearance. 171 

The Bulgarian soldiers remained the greater part of the night 
on the upper deck, singing with voices more powerful than 
musical. I noted down one of their rude airs ; it ran thus : 



$^^^^=Wi^^^^ 



l^=sife^s=^g=i=Ei 



f^?SEfe3EE3^E^ 



This refrain thej repeated again and again with never-failing 
vim and energy. The pay of the Bulgarian soldier is $1.20 a 
month. He is provided with a uniform, and rations of soggy 
bread, uncooked meat, and black coffee ; apparently not a very 
nourishing diet, yet in the revolution which occurred shortly 
after my visit to the country they endured severe hardships and 
did some pretty hard fighting. 

We reached Rustschuck at ^ve in the morning; there the 
long steamboat trip ended. It was a treat to tread solid land 
once more. A still greater treat was the bath which I took in 
the Danube. I sported in the swift current half an hour, then 
shouldered my knapsack and set out on the tramp. Eustschuck 
was pretty badly battered in the war of 1877-78. I should 
say that it has not yet recovered. It could hardly present a 
more dilapidated or woe-begone aspect than it does to-day. I 
walked through its principal street, stared at the swarthy in- 
habitants, and was stared at. That is about all I have to say 
of Rustschuck. I got out of the miserable place as soon as 
possible. 

At Radujewatz, in Wallachia, an Austrian Handwerkshursch,^ 

* The Handwerksburschen (strolling journeymen), though not so nu- 
merous as formerly, still exist. They are constantly met on the highways 
strolling from town to town, not so much with the expectation of making a 
living as of seeing the world and rubbing off the " sharp corners " before 
settling down. At the age of nineteen or twenty the men are put into 
the army, and their abilities for a period of three years turned in non-pro- 



172 A TKAMP TRIP. 

a sign-painter, got aboard as a steerage passenger. , His original 
intention was to walk from Schiurschewo to Bakureschti in 
search of work ; bat we became acquainted on the steamer, and 
on learning my intention to walk through Bulgaria, he decided 
to walk with me. I was very glad to have his company. The 
uncouth people among whom we tramped spoke only Bulgarian 
and Turkish. It was a relief, after so long a silence, to have 
even a Ilandwerksbursch to converse with. 

After pedestrian trips through flowery Italy, through pict- 
uresque Switzerland, and through Germany between the two 
lines of fruit-trees which in that country adorn the highways — 
after all this, it was a sad change to the sandy, shadeless roads 
of Bulgaria. The dilapidated villages in Mexico which excited 
my wonder when in that country a few years ago are palatial 
in comparison to the villages of Bulgaria. The houses are 
made of sun-dried mud ; the roofs are thatched, not in a work- 
manlike manner, but covered loosely with straw or hay. They 
are not above six feet high. I think a hard rain would dissolve 
and wash away a Bulgarian peasant village. The people in 
these villages seemed to have nothing in particular to do. They 
sit on the shady side of their huts gazing idly at the parched 
fields around them. Occasionally we saw women threshing 
wool with twig brooms. The men did no threshing, but they 
appeared quite pleased with looking at the women thresh. 

The heat was so intense we tried walking in the night and 
sleeping in the day. Walking at night was all right, but not so 
with the sleeping in the day. It was impossible to sleep un- 
der that burning sun, so we were compelled to give up the 
plan. My companion Ludwig ran short of money. My own 
supply was dwindling down to so fine a point I was unable to 

ductive directions. Another three or four years are lost as Handv/erks- 
burschen, so that the German and Austrian mechanic is twenty-five or 
twenty-seven years old before he settles down and begins the real business 
of life. This tardiness in becoming producers, together with their inor- 
dinate fondness for beer, are, in the opinion of many, two very important 
causes of the unsatisfactorv condition of German labor. 



SHORT OP FUNDS. 173 

help him. We agreed to stop at the little town Sindschere- 
Kujudschiik for Ludwig to get work, if possible, to replenish 
his funds. It was a forlorn hope. That wretched, baked little 
town looked as if it had never even seen a sign. The sign- 
painter's occupation was not gone — it had never existed. From 
noon (the hour of our arrival) until bedtime we strolled through 
the rambling streets, Ludwig stopping at every shop, explaining 
as best he could his trade and asking for work. At every place 
the same reception was met — a stare and shake of the head. 
One man, a dealer in cowhides, chickens, and eggs, spoke a 
little German. 

** Where are you from?" he asked Ludwig. 

Ludwig told him. 

" And where is your friend from ?'' pointing at me. 

"From America." 

" America?" repeated the cowhide dealer. " Where is Amer- 
ica?" 

Where is America? When a small boy I could answer glib- 
ly enough, but I failed in my attempt to make that worthy 
Bulgarian understand the whereabouts and immense importance 
of my native land. 

The next day we set out on the sandy road, glad to be rid of 
that little town with the big name and unspeakable shopkeep- 
ers, who did not have the good taste to adorn their stores with 
one of Lud wig's artistic signs. In the first bauerdorf (peasant- 
village) another halt was made, this time not with the hope of 
getting work at his trade, but with the idea of turning " Lands- 
mann," as Ludwig expressed it ; that is, working in the fields. 
In our blouses and knapsacks we doubtless looked as strange to 
them as they in their heavy boots and short white skirts ap- 
peared to us. On neither side was there too much confidence. 
We managed, however, to come across a man who had not 
gathered all his grapes. The heat was injuring them, and he 
agreed to give Ludwig four piasters a day. The ordinary pay 
of a field-hand in Bulgaria is ten or twelve piasters a day — fifty 
or sixty cents. I was so disgusted at the fellow's attempt to 



1'74 A TRAMP TRIP. 

take a mean advantage, tbat I advised Liidwig to let his grapes 
alone, and see the man in a hotter place than we then were in, 
rather than do his work for twenty cents a day. I had made a 
carefal calculation, and thought that with economy I could help 
Ludwig, and still make my funds hold out until I received my 
next remittance at Kijew, Eussia. Accordingly, the plan of 
getting work in the interior of Bulgaria was abandoned. In- 
deed, at any other time the idea of working for even ten pias- 
ters a day would have seemed preposterous ; but we were now 
living on ten or twelve cents a day, and in relation to the cost 
of living, ten piasters — forty-eight cents — was by no means a 
ridiculous figure. 

"We had little to do with the inhabitants along the way. 
We could not speak their language, and they seemed little in- 
clined to show us kindness or hospitalit}^ When our provi- 
sions gave out, we bought bread and grapes. The latter w^ere 
very cheap, and were refreshing. They were similar in taste 
and shape to the Malaga grape, only much sweeter. We paid 
twenty-five para the ocho — about one and one-third cents the 
pound. This was simple diet — bread and grapes. Lovers of 
roast-meat and juicy beefsteaks think hard work or active exer- 
cise cannot long continue on a bread-and-fruit diet. I think 
my pedestrian tour proves the contrary. I walked twenty-five 
miles a day for days at a time, living the while entirely on 
black bread and grapes, figs or other fruit. On those hot 
marches through Bulgaria, I have no doubt but that it was the 
simple and wholesome diet of bread and grapes which enabled 
us to stand the fatigue, and even to improve in health and 
vigor. 

We passed a lot of rude stones marking the place where 
lie the remains of many of the French soldiers who died dur- 
ing the Crimean war, of cholera and other diseases, and then 
tramped, dusty and tired, into Varna, on the Black Sea. The 
same afternoon we boarded the Austrian sfeamer for Constan- 
tinople. 



AT ANCHOR IX THE BOSPORUS. 175 



CHAPTER XIX. 

THE STEERAGE TO CONSTANTINOPLE. — A TURKISH FLIRTATION. — 
SEARCH FOR CHEAP QUARTERS. — THE GREEK RESTAURANT. — A 
BILL OF FARE IN FOUR LANGUAGES. —HOW T SAW THE SULTAN 
AHMED MOSQUE FOR ONE HUNDRED PARA. 

At the time of which I am writino^ there was cholera in 
Spain. I do not know that there was cholera anywhere else ; 
nevertheless, the Saltan, who is morbidly afraid of cholera, had 
ordered a quarantine against vessels from Yarna, and for two 
days we lay at anchor in the Bosporus, so near and yet so 
far. 

There was a Bal<:^arian ex- Jew in the steerage who aided not 
a little to pass the time. He was a thorough German scholar, 
well read in history and philosophy. We had grand dis- 
cussions on the Darwinian theory. The ex-Jew was a Chris- 
tian missionary in the Turkish capital. I did not understand 
then, and certainly do not know now, how he made the two 
beliefs compatible, but he declared his implicit faith in the 
Mosaic account of the creation and in Mr. Darwin's theory as 
to the evolution of the species. When not discussing philo- 
sophical questions with the Bulgarian missionary, I watched 
the strange characters around me. There was one fellow, a 
Tartar, with extraordinarily strong lungs. He sat, or rather 
squatted, cross-legged on the deck for hours together, singing 
all the while a hideous and monotonous chant. His complexion 
was a muddy yellow, his hair w^as coarse and straight like that 
of a horse's tail. There were half a dozen other Tartars in his 
party, but fortunately they refrained from singing. Had they 
all made the same horrible noise at once, I would have been 
deafened for life. 

A treacherous-looking Turk with an unusually long, dirty 



176 A TKAMP TRIP. 

beard and dirty turban had bis wife with him. She was swad- 
dled from the crown of her head to the tips of her toes in a 
kind of loose gown. The end of her nose, which stuck out just 
enough to get a whiff of fresh air, was all of her that was visi- 
ble. The old Turk watched her jealously from morning till 
night ; he rarely spoke to her, merely treated her as a piece of 
valuable baggage, seeming to think it sufficient if he kept her 
unpolluted by the impious gaze of Christians. Once I took 
my knapsack to the corner of the deck where the poor thing- 
had been sitting all day, without daring so much as to move, 
and squatting down near the railing, I took out my pen and 
ink and note-book, and under pretence of writing watched her 
narrowly. I discovered that she was young and pretty. There 
were some figs in a paper in her lap. Thinking me too busy 
with my writing to see her, she lifted her veil to eat the fruit. 
She had an exquisitely shaped mouth, and the whitest, prettiest 
teeth I ever saw. Her complexion w^as soft and creamy, her 
eyes black and dancing. I did not take her to be above seven- 
teen years old. The hoary old Turk, old enough to be her 
grandfather, had doubtless just bought this young and beautiful 
girl to displace an old and withered wife. So absorbed did I be- 
come in these observations and speculations that I did not stop 
to think what the husband might have to say of my sitting so 
near his valuable freight. I was called to myself in a way more 
startling than pleasant. While gazing at her as she bit oil the 
stems of the figs with her dazzling teeth and admiring her bright 
eyes, and wondering at her curiously dyed finger-nails and eye- 
brows, there was a whiz, a flash, and the same instant a big 
watermelon burst on the railing eighteen inches from my head. 
I looked and saw the Turk glaring like an infuriated beast. 
That portion of the vessel no longer had charms for me. I 
left. After that the poor slave was guarded more strictly than 
ever. Until quarantine was raised, she hardly moved from her 
pallet in the corner by the ship's railing. At certain hours her 
villanous old husband turned his face to the East, and prayed 
and prostrated himself, and thumped his head on the deck. Ex- 



TURKISH BOATMEN. 177 

cept when engaged in these pious duties, he sat by his wife, 
keeping close vigil. At meal-times he turned her face towards 
the sea, so that no eye might behold her, then fed her as he 
would a child or a dog. 

At last, thanks to Father Time, the days of probation expired. 
We steamed into the Golden Horn, the anchor was dropped, 
and we were in Constantinople ! Before the ship had come to 
a stop, a swarm of Turks were on board, making the air hideous 
with their cries and yells. They surrounded the vessel in their 
small boats, and clambered up the sides like monkeys. I was 
leaning over the railing looking at the city, when suddenly a 
turbaned head stuck itself in my face. The ship was still in 
motion. I had not seen the man as he stuck his grapple in a 
ring in the side of the vessel and clambered up. Fortunately, 
my knapsack was strapped tight on my back. Had it not been, 
the impudent fellow would have seized it despite my most vig- 
orous resistance. The Turkish boatmen who ferry passengers to 
the wharf are veritable pirates. They are shameless in their de- 
mands ; if you do not accede to them, they hold or confiscate 
your baggage. It is not often that a traveller arrives with so 
little baggage as I had. My ferryman, when I refused to pay 
more than twenty cents, became furious. I had no baggage 
on which he could levy ; my knapsack was fast to my back. 
I laughed in his face as he fell to raving and cursing in his 
heathenish tongue. 

As I was passing through a gate at the landing, an official 
extended his hand for my passport. I handed it to him. He 
looked at it, turned it upside down, pretended to read it, then 
handed it back. I walked on through the gate. The Austrian 
Handwerksbursch who came behind me fared not so well. The 
Turk scowled at his passport, and instead of returning it ordered 
the inoffensive Austrian to retire to an inner room. What 
dread ordeal he there underwent I know not. He came to 
the door in a few minutes, and said he was a prisoner, that 
he was not allowed to leave the room. It afterwards trans- 
pired that his passport was not vised by the Turkish consul. 



178 A TRAMP TEIP. 

Neither was mine, yet the custom-house official made that 
difference between us. I was allowed to go, while the Austrian 
was detained until his consul came down and vouched for his 
nationality. 

The cheapest hotels mentioned in any of the guide-books 
for Constantinople charge from three to four dollars a day. 
Accordingly, when I landed on the shores of the unspeakable 
Turk, I set out to find a hotel not mentioned in the guide- 
books. I found a very nice room on the Rue Voivoda, within 
two doors of the German and French post-offices. The price 
was one hundred and sixty para a day — about seventeen cents. 
My meals I got at a Greek restaurant for forty to fifty para — 
three and a half to four and a half cents — the meal consist- 
ing of a piece of bread and a plate of rice, macaroni, or pota- 
toes. It was a curious little place, this Greek restaurant. The 
oven was in the broad sill of the front window^ looking on tbe 
street. There, over a fire of hot coals, were the different pans 
from which the guest selected his meal. The one contained 
potato-and-meat hash, another macaroni, another rice, etc. A 
guest on entering goes to this window, surveys the different 
viands, makes his selection, and it is served on a tin plate on 
a table in the back of the room. Some of the dishes eaten 
at this restaurant were peculiar. 

Rice is cooked with pepper, honey, fruit-sauce, and maize. 
Boiled fish, filled with cucumbers, pumpkins, or rice, is much 
liked. Another favorite is a kind of hash made of fish mixed 
with cabbage, salad, etc. Kaimaik is a dish of roasted noodles 
dipped in honey. Jaurt, a sort of sour milk, is eaten in soup 
or with raw cucumbers. Geese, ducks, and similar fowls arc 
not eaten, being considered unclean. A hog once broke into 
a mosque ; since then no good Mussulman will eat hog-meat. 

The majority of these dishes I found impossible to learn to 
like ; the potatoes and rice, however, were always palatable 
and filling. I avoided the high-priced European hotels, and 
stuck to the Greek restaurant. One day a Greek soldier came 
in. He wore a tiny bit of a cap, a bobtail jacket, and a white 



A TURKISH BATH. 179 

skirt eighteen inches long, that stuck out like the starched skirt 
of the ballet-dancer. AVhite hose reached to where the ab- 
surdly short skirt left off, and covered his legs down to the 
feet. This curious and ridiculous -looking fellow so absorbed 
my attention, hungry as I was, I forgot to eat my dinner. 

The steerage is not the cleanest part of a ship. The first 
thing I did after finding a room was to take a Turkish bath. 
There are so-called Turkish baths in America. They are only 
so-called. The genuine article is not to be found out of Turkey. 
On entering, the visitor finds himself in a large domed salon, 
in the centre of which is a refreshing fountain. A grave, 
courteous Turk meets you ; you take off your shoes and climb 
upon the platform that stands out from the wall circling the 
salon. An attendant takes off your clothes, puts a sheet around 
you, gives you a pair of wooden clogs, and conducts you through 
a door into the first room of the bath — a large room with marble 
floors and not the slightest sign of water. A mat was spread 
in the middle of the floor. On this mat I was laid to reflect 
and sweat. While thus gradually melting and dripping away, 
a door was softly opened, and before I knew what was up, a 
naked and swarthy Turk had jumped upon my body, and was 
stamping me with miglit and main. The onslaught was so 
sudden, and I was so unprepared, that resistance was impossible. 
I was sore and aching in every joint before the villain released 
me. The kneading and pinching which followed seemed, in com- 
parison to the first treatment, or rather mzstreatm en t, mild and 
pleasant. When my body had been beaten and pinched black 
and blue, the Turk took me to another part of the room, and 
laying me flat on the floor, began with a kind of curry-comb 
to rub and scratch the skin off. There were numerous other 
processes. I was doused in hot water, a tub of soapsuds was 
poured over me, while another attendant kicked and beat me. 
This and the various other indignities to which I was subjected 
lasted an hour and a half ; then, wearied and dejected, I went 
back to the gallery where I had undressed, and lay on a couch 
covered with sheets, to rest and recuperate. On leaving, the 



180 A TRAMP TRIP. 

dignified Turk who had first greeted me presented a small 
hand-mirror, on which I laid a piece of money. The Turk is 
supposed to be above counting or even looking at the money ; 
if you put any faith in this supposition, test the matter some- 
time by putting on the glass less than two hundred para — twen- 
ty-five cents — the usual amount charged for a bath. The howl 
which that Turk will set up will very speedily convince you of 
your error. 

I counted one day in front of the German post-office sixty- 
seven dogs and eighteen puppies. Lazy Turks were squatting 
on the sidewalk smoking long pipes and eying the dogs as 
they scratched olf the fleas. It was difficult to get about with- 
out stepping on one of the canines: some one is constantly 
treading on a tail or a leg, and the air in consequence is filled 
with a frightful howling and barking. It would not be so bad 
if they cleaned up after the dogs; this is not done, on account 
of the scarcity of water. Water is sold by peddlers on the 
streets at so much a glass. There are a few baby fountains 
where by turning a faucet a tiny stream is produced. These 
are constantly surrounded by a crowd of thirsty people. The 
generous Italian fountains running volumes of water are un- 
known. 

A native Turk speaking but one language would almost be 
regarded as a curiosity. Hotel bills of fare, shopkeepers' signs, 
etc., are printed in Greek, Arabic, Armenian, and French. On 
the Stamboul bridge one may hear a dozen different languages 
at once — Greek, Arabic, Kurdish, Turkish, Armenian, Bulgarian, 
Servian, Albanian, Wallachian, Jew-Spanish, Italian, and French. 
Many of these people are beggars. They line both sides of the 
approach to the bridge, and expose their horrible sores in the 
hope of exciting pity and receiving alms. In my tenderness of 
heart, the first time I saw these poor devils I made a trifling 
donation. The whole tribe came hobbling after me ; to escape 
them I was literally compelled to take to my heels and run. 
The streets of Constantinople are so hilly and crooked that the 
street-car companies find it necessary to have a man run ahead 



POSTAL SERVICE IN TURKEY. 181 

of eacli car to warn pedestrians. This avatit courier is provided 
with a horn, which he blows, not with his mouth but with his 
nose ! The sound is hoarse and snorting. The first time I saw 
one of these barefoot fellows tearing along, blowing a brass 
trumpet with his nose, I thought it merely an individual eccen- 
tricity ; it seemed, however, to be quite usual. 

Most of the great powers have their own postal service in 
Turkey. An Englishman in Constantinople, when he wishes 
to mail a letter, takes an English stamp, puts it on his letter, 
and drops it in the English post, where English clerks take 
care of it and forward it to its destination. Germany, Italy, 
France, etc., have posts in the same way. The Turkish post is 
a very shabby affair. It is in a little wooden shanty in Stam- 
boul, at the end of the bridge over the Golden Horn. In one 
corner of this rickety building is a glass case, where are dis- 
played the letters which the department were unable to de- 
liver. The letters were addressed in Arabic, Hebrew, Greek, 
and other " chicken-scratching " characters. Around this case 
of dead letters squat a number of men who make a livelihood 
as scribes. They are generally surrounded by a crowd, who 
watch the hieroglyphics and stare at the veiled women dic- 
tating their letters. The prettiest sort of a girl came up while 
I was there. If I may judge from the sparkle of her roguish 
black eyes, I should say the letter she dictated was a love mis- 
sive. She wore the thinnest of veils, through which the con- 
tour of her face was quite visible. The handsome Turkish 
w^omen are not a little prone to thin, gauzy veils. Only those 
of unusual homeliness insist on wearing veils entirely opaque — 
at least I so imagined. 

Nominally the government of Turkey is constitutional — only 
nominally. In reality the Sultan possesses absolute power over 
the millions of beings who inhabit his provinces in the three 
continents of Europe, Asia, and Africa. Yet, paradoxical as it 
may seem, the Sultan is not even his ow^n master. He is a 
prisoner in his own palace. The Sultan Abd ul Hamid II, is 
morbid on the subject of assassination. His palace is surround- 



^ 



182 A TRAMP TRIP. 

ed by high walls. Soldiers guard every entrance. He never 
goes out unless accompanied by a large body-guard. I saw 
him one Friday on the way to prayers. Former sultans at- 
tended the Ahmed Mosque in Stamboul. Abd ul Hamid 
dreads going so far. He prays exclusively in the Mosque of 
Tschiraghan, only a few hundred yards from his palace gates. 
By paying forty para to the proprietor of a coffee-stand in 
the neighborhood I obtained a place in the window, whence 
I had an excellent view of the procession as it passed. Lines 
of soldiers stretched up and down the street, beyond the palace 
walls on the one end and beyond the mosque on the other. Xo 
civilian was permitted on the street. At length there was a 
loud huzza ; the thousands of Turks who were craning their 
necks to get a glimpse of the Sublime Porte shouted and threw 
up their fezes. A carriage drawn by four horses approached. 
The carriage contained two very brilliantly uniformed men, 
and a black-bearded man of medium stature and sallow look. 
The two men in uniform were pachas ; the black-bearded man 
was the Sultan. The soldiers presented arms, the drums beat, 
the fifes and horns tooted, and his Highness, the Sun and Moon 
and Light of the World, disappeared behind the walls of the 
mosque, there to pray or not, as he chose. No one is allowed 
to enter, and the soldiers look to it that no prying eye peeps 
to see what is passing within. 

It goes without saying that none but true believers are em- 
ployed in the Government departments. The Government takes 
care its employes do not let their faith grow rusty. Adjoining 
the bureaus are provided apartments where clerks can step out 
at short intervals and pray. Passing through the corridors of 
the High Porte in Stamboul, where are the offices of the grand- 
vizier and other high dignitaries, I glanced into a room next to 
where a number of clerks were writing. A dozen or so men 
were in the room, barefoot, praying, and knocking their heads 
against the floor. When through, they hurried to work again. 

When I called on the American consul, he told me, among 
other things, that Americans had been granted a place in the 



PORTERS OF CONSTAKTINOPLE. 183 

Britisli ccincteiT. This was gratifying news. I immediately 
visited the cemetery. It was a bleak, barren, cheerless-looking 
spot. The grass was burnt and parched by the fierce sun, a 
few willows afforded a scanty shade. It is very well to bury 
Americans here who die in Constantinople ; but why bring those 
dying in Brasa and other distant Asiatic cities? It is hard to 
believe that the cemeteries of those places can be more forsaken- 
looking than the cemetery at Constantinople. Some of those 
buried in that cemetery died in Brusa and at Jerusalem ! 

The lower classes of Turkey are veritable beasts of burden. 
The streets of Constantinople are steep, crooked, and unpaved ; 
vehicles cannot go over them. The heaviest loads are carried 
on the backs of men. A kind of saddle — a big hump of leath- 
er — is worn on the back. When the porter carries a burden he 
leans forward almost at a right angle, and carries loads often of 
two hundred or three hundred pounds. I have seen them, thus 
bent double, carrying bales of goods or huge boxes, the sweat 
trickling from their faces in streams. For this severe labor the 
Turkish porter receives the munificent sum of twenty or twen- 
ty-five cents a day. Similar to the porters are the fruit-ped- 
dlers. They carry on their backs great baskets of grapes, figs, 
pomegranates, etc., which they sell at ridiculously low prices. 
For fifteen para (not quite two cents) you can buy as many 
grapes or figs as you can eat — and such grapes and figs ! I 
have never seen them equalled, even in Spain or California. 

Everybody on arriving at Constantinople buys a fez. Why 
they do this I cannot say. It is a silly little concern — no brim, 
giving not the slightest protection against sun or rain — still, it 
is the fashion. My first wrestle with a Turk was in an attempt 
not to pay eight times as much as the ordinary price of a fez. 
They are sold by street peddlers. The peddler has a big bag, 
in which he carries several hundred fezes. When your selec- 
tion is made you step into a " pressing " shop (one is at every 
turn) and have the fez ironed and a tassel sewed on ; then you 
are ready to join the rest of the ninnies and walk about in the 
sun with a brimless thing that lets your nose burn red as fire. 



184 A TEAMP TRIP. 

My fez, pressing and all, cost two hundred para — about eight- 
een and a half cents ; the foot-baths that I afterwards took to 
bleach my nose cost twice that sum. 

Turkish women go to one extreme, Turkish men to another. 
The women hide even their faces, the men seem careless about 
exposing their entire persons. I saw, one night, on a business 
street in Stamboul, shopkeepers sleeping out on the street in 
front of their shops almost in a state of nudity. Most of them 
were small provision dealers, and had chickens in coops for sale. 
Quilts were spread upon the coops, and there the nearly naked 
Turks lay snoring as peacefully as if in the privacy of their 
harems, instead of in a public street, with dogs and cats and 
donkeys and prowling sight-seers around them. The night I 
took this stroll happened to be the anniversary of the Sultan's 
accession to the throne. The city was illuminated by feeble 
candle-lights and dim lanterns. As a pyrotechnical display it 
was despicable. It was only interesting as a sample of the 
kind of Fourth of July the Orientals can get up. The half- 
naked Turks asleep on their chicken-coops looked peculiarly 
strange and weird in the different-colored lights of the illumi- 
nation. 

The thing in Constantinople most suggestive of Eoman ori- 
gin is the Hippodrome in Stamboul. Here, where in ancient 
times the Romans held their races ; where, as Gibbon tells us, 
the factions of the Blues and the Greens heaped the ground in 
a few hours with forty thousand corpses — here one sees the 
outline of a Roman forum. This Hippodrome, once brilliant 
with the decorations of prodigal emperors, once alive with the 
gayeties and pomp of a luxurious court, is now bleak and bar- 
ren. Of all the works of art that once adorned its ample 
space only three relics now remain — the Egyptian obelisk, 
erected by the Emperor Theodosius, the Byzantine obelisk, 
and a spiral column of brass. The first column, originally 
erected in Heliopolis in Egypt, b.c. 1600, was brought to Con- 
stantinople by Theodosius. The Byzantine obelisk was for- 
merly ornamented by bass-reliefs ; they have long since disap- 



THE SULTAK AHMED MOSQUE. 185 

peared, and the shaft stands now a mere skeleton of its former 
self. The spiral column is one of the most ancient and inter- 
esting relics of antiquity. It was erected by the Greeks in the 
Temple of Apollo after the battle of Platasa and Salamis, to com- 
memorate their victory over the Persians. So* venerable is this 
column it occupies a page in the history of Herodotus. Since 
it was transported from Delphos by Constantine to its present 
site the level of the Hippodrome has risen fourteen feet. The 
earth immediately around the column has been excavated, but 
the visitor is not permitted to descend into the excavation, and 
is therefore unable to read the inscriptions, still remaining, 
which the Greeks graved in the column centuries before Christ. 

To the east of the ancient Hippodrome is the Mosque of the 
Sultan Ahmed. It was a hot day. To get into the shade as 
Avell as to see the mosque, I took off my shoes and entered the 
sacred edifice. Scarce had I done so when a coolly attired Turk, 
that is, attired in a short white petticoat, naked legs, and half- 
naked body, came running up and demanded " backsheesh." I 
took out a one-hundred para piece — about eleven cents — and 
handed it to him. He took it, gazed at it scornfully, and said, 

" Bere garush " (two piasters). 

I refused, upon which he motioned me to leave. I was will- 
ing to leave, but not without my one hundred para. I extend- 
ed my hand to take back the money ; the Turk extended both 
his hands, the one for more money, the other to expel me from 
the mosque. There was no sign of my one hundred para. I 
looked the Turk square in the face, and told him in good Eng- 
lish to *'go to the d — 1." He will doubtless obey the injunc- 
tion later on, but at the time he showed no inclination to do so. 
On the contrary, he put both hands upon me, and endeavored 
to put me out of the door. I dislike being swindled even in 
small matters. The sickly little Turk was smaller than I. In 
my turn I put my hands upon the Turk, and in so ungentle a 
manner that he receded, I might say fell back, several yards. 
Then I extended my hand and intimated as well as I could 
that I meant either to see that mosque or have my money. 



186 A TRAMP TRIP. 

Of course be could not think of returning tlie money, and thus 
it happened that I saw the Mosque of the Sultan Ahmed to the 
east of the ancient Hippodrome at a cost of one hundred para — 
more than enough. 

The great central dome of this mosque, the culmination of a 
number of small domes and half domes, is mosaicked with 
small blue stones, set here and there with a dazzling star — the 
whole a wonderful representation of the vaulted heavens. In- 
scriptions in Turkish on shields thirty feet in diameter afford 
inspiration to devout worshippers. The prodigious central 
dome is supported by four fluted marble columns, fifty or sixty 
feet in circumference. From what I saw, I do not think Mo- 
hammedans regard their mosques as very sacred. True, Chris- 
tian dogs are made to take off their shoes on entering, but 
they allow themselves much liberty. While looking around 
the interior of the mosque, I heard sounds of the most hilari- 
ous laughter. Squatting on the floor near one of the huge 
marble columns was the festive Turk who had tried to rob and 
then eject me ; there he was holding his sides, and laughing till 
the dome echoed the sound again. His brother pirates seemed 
equally amused and boisterous. One day when visiting another 
mosque I saw a man of venerable aspect, long gray beard, and 
"wrinkled face, sitting cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by a 
dozen or so younger men, who were busily engaged in writing. 
The old man had a pillow or cushion in front of him, on which 
rested a book. He was a professor ; the young men were his 
pupils. Sometimes half a dozen professors may be seen hold- 
ing their classes in a mosque at the same hour. Mosques are 
selected on account of their roominess and coolness. The 
thought of sacrilege in using a religious edifice for secular pur- 
poses does not seem to occur to them. 

The Mosque of St. Sophia is intrinsically not so interesting as 
the Sultan Ahmed. It is larger, but not so imposing. Histor- 
ically, of course, St. Sophia is the most interesting edifice in 
Constantinople. It was beneath St. Sophia's dome that the 
great Roman Empire breathed its last. Here, on that same 



THE PALJSOLOGI. 187 

marble floor, surveyed and trodden by nineteenth-century tour- 
ists, that great fabric wliicli had been feeble and tottering for a 
thousand years received its death-bloAV from the furious Turk, 
For centuries the Roman Empire of the East had existed but in 
name ; still it had existed. The Palseologi, those feeble Greek 
emperors, could still walk the walls of Constantinople, could 
still read of the ancient glory of the empire, and indulge in 
dreams of a happier future ; but that fearful day which saw 
the streets of Constantinople running with blood, which ended 
with a horrible massacre beneath St. Sophia's dome — that day 
put an end to such hopes forever ! 

The Emperor Palseologus lay buried under a heap of dead, 
and with him lay the withered corpse of the Roman Empire ! 



188 A TRAMP TPaP. 



CHAPTER XX. 

SCENES IN STAMBOUL.— A TRIP TO ASIA MINOR. — THE HOWLING 
DERVISHES.— THEIR TERRIBLE RITES.— DINNER WITH A DAMAS- 
CUS SILK -MERCHANT. —CURIOUS CUSTOMS.— A MORMON MISSION- 
ARY. — THE TURKS HARD TO CONVERT. 

Walking through a narrow alley in Stamboul one day, I was 
overtaken by a Turk who addressed me in tolerable English. 

** You want guide ?" he asked. 

I told him no, but he continued walking by my side. 

*' Maybe you not know meV^ 

'' Certainly not. How should I ?" 

"Why," he said, "you ought know me. Me in Mark 
Twain's book. You remember Mark Twain's book ? Me Far- 
away-Moses." 

Did I know him? I should think I did. What American 
does not know, and has not laughed over, Far-away-Moses? 
Here was I in the very presence of that celebrated man. I 
gazed a moment in silent admiration, then squeezed his hand, 
and treated to a Turkish pastry at the first booth we came to. 

A day or two after this event, I was again walking in Stam- 
boul, and again was I approached by an English-speaking guide. 

" No, I don't need a guide," I told him. " I can paddle my 
owm canoe." 

"But me very good guide," insisted the man. "You don't 
know me, gentleman ; I tell you who I am. You know Mark 
Twain's book ? Me Far-away-Moses !" 

Had the great Far-away-Moses changed so in three days? 
It was impossible. The only solution to this remarkable inci- 
dent was that there were two Far-away-Moseses. A day or two 
later still another Far-away-Moses turned up. Before I left 
Constantinople I began to think the woods full of them. That 



CISTERN OF A THOUSAND AND ONE COLUMNS. 189 

the guides should think the mere name Far-away-Moses a 
passport to your good graces is a great compliment to Mark 
Twain. There was a sequel to this little adventure in Antwerp 
several months afterwards. I was visiting the Turkish bazaar 
at the Exposition then being held in that city. I spoke to the 
man in charge of my recent return from the East. 

^* Ah, you were in Stamboul ?" he said. " Perhaps you saw 
Far-away-Moses ?" 

I had seen several of them, but I did not tell him so. I 
merely said "Yes." His face lighted with a smile. 

"Tell me," he said, "how did he look? Far-away- Moses is 
my father !" 

It is very possible the sons were as numerous as the father, 
but I saw only this one. 

The cistern of the thousand and one columns is a gloomy 
place. It was originally three stories deep. The two lower 
stories have been filled with dirt and debris, and at the present 
day only the third or upper floor is accessible. A number of 
silk-spinners carry on their work in this cistern forty feet under 
the earth. They smoke while they work. One hand is busied 
with the whirling spinning-wheel, the other hand manipulates 
the long tube of their pipe. Although there are not literally 
a thousand and one columns, there are several hundred ; they 
present the appearance of a forest of marble shafts. It is sup- 
posed Philoxenos built this cistern. Several others are in the 
same vicinity. That of the " Forty Martyrs " was built by the 
tyrant Phocas. The exact purpose of these immense under- 
ground reservoirs has never been precisely ascertained. A 
plausible supposition is that they were destined to collect the 
storm-water to use in case of fire. 

In Scutari, Asia Minor, a steep and rugged street leads to 
the cloister of the howling dervishes: an ordinary - looking 
house in a garden surrounded by a high wall. I had no guide, 
and could not have found the way but for persistent repetition 
of the word "Tekke," Turkish for cloister. I repeated that 
open-sesame word to every one I met, and at last reached the 



190 A TRAMP TRIP. 

right place. In the anteroom or hall leading to the main apart- 
ment was a coal-black negro, who upon my entering promptly 
ordered me ont. At any rate, I presume that is what he said, 
for he followed his remark with a gentle but firm seizure of my 
arm, leading me to the door. From his pantomimic action I 
discovered that I had neglected to remove my shoes! Having 
rectified my error, I humbly sought admittance again, and this 
time with success. The turbaned black gave me a stool, and 
made me understand as well as he could by signs and gestures 
that the ceremonies had not yet begun. I amused myself in 
the interim by observing my surroundings. Lying on the floor 
were a dozen or two men, some of them dervishes, smoking 
pipes and sipping coffee, which the negro served in very small 
cups. In the garden were graves of devout dervishes, over 
which waved the boughs of ^g and pomegranate trees, and the 
leaves of grape-vines. At intervals of ten or fifteen minutes 
the turbaned black who liad put me out, and who seemed to be 
head - manager of the coffee department, went out into the 
garden and carried on a little pious performance all by him- 
self. First he would bow and strike the ground with his head ; 
then arising, he would give vent to doleful howls, as if afflict- 
ed with a horrible case of stomach-ache ! After howling and 
butting the ground for several minutes, thus relieving himself 
of superfluous religious ecstasy, the turbaned fellow returns to 
his post and resumes the duty of ladling out coffee. 

I have witnessed the war and medicine dances of the Indians 
in the North-west ; I have visited a number of lunatic asylums ; 
but neither among the Indians nor among the lunatics did I 
ever see so grotesque or fearful an orgy as that of the howling 
dervishes of Scutari. 

The ages of the dervishes varied from tender youth to extreme 
old age. They wore loose, white gowns. In the beginning all 
were squatting on lamb-skins in the centre of the floor. There 
they howled and rocked backward and forward a quarter of 
an hour ; then of a sudden all leaped to their feet, and backing 
against the wall, began a more hideous howling than ever. They 



HOWLING DERVISHES. 191 

kowled in unison ; as they did so they swayed backward and 
forward, up and down, distorted their faces, jerked their heads 
about, and writhed as if in convulsions. As the moments flew, 
the distortions became more violent, the movements more rapid, 
the hoarse grunts and screams more and more furious. I ob- 
served that the antics of the coal-blacks were wilder and fiercer 
than those of lighter-complexioned dervishes. A tall black in 
the uniform of an officer of the army was so violent in his con- 
tortions that I momentarily expected to see him tumble over in a 
swoon. He sprang up and down, screamed, roared, twisted his 
neck ; his eyeballs glared, the long tassel of his fez flew hither 
and thither — he was a horrible sight. This man had the strength 
of a Hercules. He was the last to give in ; to the last his writh- 
ings and hoarse shouts retained their full vigor and perfection. 
He sunk suddenly, from nervous exhaustion. Some of those 
who took part in the ceremonies were Turkish officers and med- 
ical students. The women were penned in a closely latticed 
gallery. Through the bars I saw that they were swaying back 
and forth, marking time to the mad music going on below. 

When, after an hour of this mad tumult, all the dervishes 
collapsed to the floor, the Scheich, or head -priest, enacted a 
still more revolting performance. A number of children rang- 
ing from six months to ten years of age were laid on the bare 
floor face downward ; then the hoary sinner called " Scheich," 
a man weighing fully one hundred and sixty pounds, deliber- 
ately walked over those children. The little fellows screamed 
with pain. As each child was trod upon it was picked up by 
an attendant and presented to the Scheich, who blew in its face 
and made magic passes in the air over its head. If the infant 
survives this treatment it is holy ; if it dies (as it often does) 
it is not holy, and ought to die. Such is the barbaric belief and 
practice of the howling dervishes. 

The dancing dervishes of Pera, though happily less barbaric 
than the howling dervishes, are as curious and interesting. 
Their " Tekke" is an octagonal building. The floor of the large 
central apartment is w^axed very smooth. Along the eight 



192 



A TRAMP TRIP. 



sides of the octagon are rows of straw mats. The dervishes sit 
on these mats, and begin their ceremonies by long, monotonous 
chants. The orchestra consists of a flute with a cadaverous 
tone, a kind of violoncello with one string ("A"), and a kettle- 
drum of bad quality. At the ceremonious introduction, after 
an unearthly yell by all the dervishes in concert, the following 
melancholy strain,'-^' with its original instrumentation, begins : 

Flute. 
Slow arA solemn. 



n 




Hereupon several of the dervishes arise and chant the follow- 
ing melody, during which the dancers gradually enter : 



Dervish Chants. 



Pause. 



p^ 


\ \ 1 [ 1 


/T^. 




/Tv 


\^ 


-#to3 i 


-] - 


S«:3^i 


^_1 1 



Al 



lahl. 



Al 



]L 



-f^B^X 



lah I Beady for dancing. 

I 1st. I M. 



tft 



--±t. 



W^^ 



<^- 



75? 



1 



Cello. 



Dancers gradually enter. 



■^- 



^- — m-9 _ tf —^ -tf 






-(^- 



iS 



Drum. 



Repeated with variations. 



* These melodies of the dervishes were noted down on the spot by Mr. 
Arnold Strothotte, of St. Louis, Missouri. 



HONORS PAID TO THE SCHEICH. 193 

Final Chant with Accomp. 



•^ Dn.no.p. rnnt.inup.a. r 







i 



I^Z 



1 ill! i I ! 

This music continues until the Christian visitor begins to think 
the show a fraud ; he gazes at the Arabic inscriptions, looks 
out of the window at the ships gliding along on the Bos- 
porus, and at the hills of Asia beyond. From this occupa- 
tion his attention is suddenly diverted. While the chanting is 
in full blast, as if never to end, a drum sounds an alarm, a wheezy 
flute begins a melancholy strain, the dervishes spring from their 
squatting postures, at the same time throwing aside their cloaks, 
revealing their long white gowns. The Scheich stands at the 
centre of one of the octagonal sides ; the dervishes file before 
him, each one stopping as he passes to kiss the hat of the 
Scheich, who bends over for that purpose. Immediately on 
kissing the hat each dervish spins off towards the centre of 
the room, where he continues revolving like a teetotum. When 
the last man has kissed the hat the room is full of the whirlers. 
They hold their hands out at right angles, their heads droop, 
their eyes have a glassy, trance-like look. The perspiration 
pours from their necks and faces ; still the wild rotary motion 
continues so rapid as almost to make the on-looker dizzy ; it 
seems to have little effect on the dancers. 

When the dance has continued for an almost incredible time, 
considering its nature, the wheezy flute gives the signal to stop ; 
the living tops spin slower and slower, and finally stand still. 
At this moment they look like men awakened from a dream. 
Standing still a few minutes, as if to collect themselves, they 
once more file around the room, pass the Scheich, kiss his hat ; 
9 



194 A TRAMP TEIP. 

then a side door is opened, tbey file out, and the ceremony is 
over. The founder of this sect was Mevlana Dschelaaleddin 
Eumi, of Konia. The howling dervishes were founded in 
1182, or thereabouts, by Asketan Se'id Ahmed Kufai. Each 
sect go through their ceremonies once a week. Europeans are 
permitted to look on upon payment of two hundred para — 
eighteen cents — a modest enough sum. Four hundred para is 
charged to look at a mosque, neither as strange nor as interest- 
ing as the ceremonies of the dervishes. 

Stamboul, the ancient Byzantium and the real Constantinople, 
is situated on a small triangular peninsula. The Golden Horn 
and the Bosporus form the defence of the city on two of its 
sides ; a wall was once the city's defence on the land side. This 
wall is now in ruins. In places it has been torn down alto- 
gether. Iloary trees grow on its summit, vines and weeds cling 
to its sides. Before this wall once ran a ditch one hundred 
feet deep. Four hundred years ago this ditch was filled with 
thousands of bloody corpses ; it is now half filled with earth. 
Figs, pomegranates, and orchids grow where besieged and be- 
siee'ers once met in a dcath-struQ-o-le. In this ditch successive 
centuries saw vast hordes gather one after another, until the 
final catastrophe in 1453. A thousand years ago the followers 
of Mohammed stood here, heaped curses and darts upon the 
heathen Christians, and after a thirteen months' siege igno- 
miniously retired. Eight hundred years later they again mar- 
shalled their forces in front of the ditch and the wall. This 
time Mohammed had cannon instead of curses and darts ; the 
ditch was filled, the wall was battered down — the Roman Em- 
pire ceased to exist even in name. 

Napoleon at one time had Prussia trampled under his feet. 
The Allies, after Waterloo, had France absolutely at their mercy. 
But the consequences were insignificant in comparison to the 
consequences of Mohammed's conquest of Constantinople. That 
was more the annihilation of a nation than a conquest. Peo- 
ple, religion, manner, language — everything changed as a result 
of that day's work before the walls of Stamboul. To this day, 



A HAREM ON FIRE. 195 

after a lapse of centuries, the results are still present and still 
felt. 

The view from the wall is fine. Stamboul with its forest of 
minarets is on one side, the luxurious gardens and cypress forests 
on the other ; afar off are visible the blue waters of the Bosporus, 
the Sea of Marmora, and the outlines of the Balkan Mountains. 

When returning one night through the labyrinth of steep 
streets from a trip to the ancient walls, my reflections were sud- 
denly disturbed by loud cries and blowing of horns. People 
hurried hither and thither, and presently a squad of half-naked 
men rushed by, waving lanterns and giving forth the most un- 
earthly yells. 

There was a great fire in the city. Those men were the fire- 
men. A mob was running in the direction of the fire. I joined 
them. It was a curious sight. A large harem was burning. 
The miserable Turkish women for the once left off their veils 
and saved themselves as best they could. The close lattice shut- 
ters which keep them from the fresh air as well as from the 
gaze of men were thrown wide open. At some of the windows 
stood human figures, shouting and wildly gesticulating. On 
the surrounding hills were thousands of fezzed and turbaned 
spectators. The firemen did little more than scream and shout. 
Their toy engines, worked by hand, throw at best a small, fee- 
ble stream ; two-thirds of the time it threw no stream at all, 
for lack of water. There are no cisterns, no water-mains ; the 
sole supply is the water brought from the sea in leather bags on 
the backs of men. I watched these w-ater- carriers as they 
rushed about in wild confusion. Their bags hold tw^o gallons. 
It is often a mile or more from the scene of the fire to the sea; 
as the bags are leaky, only a small portion of the two gallons 
remains when they arrive upon the scene of action (or inRctioTi), 
Such efforts are, of course, vain. I watched the harem until it 
burned to the ground. 

Among the passengers on the Black Sea steamer was a 
Damascus silk-merchant. The Bulgarian missionary acted as 
interpreter, and before the landing at Constantinople the Da- 



196 A TKAMP TEIP. 

masciis silk-merchant became quite friendly. He wrote his 
name and address in my note-book in Arabic, and invited me 
to call upon him at his Stamboul residence. 

During my frequent journeyings across the Golden Horn I fell 
in with a street gamin, a bright little fellow ten or twelve years 
old, who had learned Italian from Italian sailors. For two 
hundred para this ragamuffin agreed to find the address of tbe 
silk-merchant, and to act as interpreter during my call. Tbe 
Arab seemed glad to see me. He was just going to the batb, 
and insisted on my accompanying him. Unfortunately I con- 
sented. The indignities described in speaking of my other bath 
were heaped upon me, together with other still deeper atrocities. 
After a villanous Arab had stamped upon me and nearly dislo- 
cated all my bones, another fellow of a sudden threw himself on 
me, and before I could remonstrate had begun to shave my body 
with a keen-bladed razor. Afraid to move lest he might cut me, 
I was forced to submit to his treatment. The silk-merchant, 
lying on a marble slab near by, regarded me calmly ; my scamp 
of an interpreter, who stood a few yards off, clad in a towel, 
stuck out his tongue and grinned when I commanded him to 
tell the attendant to release me. Thus was I obliged to endure 
it to the bitter end. I felt glad that the villain spared the hair 
on my head ; it was about all he did spare. 

The next day, accompanied by my Italian-speaking interpret- 
er, I went to the Arab's, by special invitation, to dine. Turk- 
ish dwelling-houses are divided into two parts, which are entire- 
ly separated one from the other. Into the " Haremlik " no 
man is ever allowed, excepting the husband and his eunuchs. 
Visitors are admitted to the half called " Selamlik." There is 
not much furniture, even in houses of the rich. Around the 
walls are divans ; a few vases, lamps, smoking apparatuses, and 
coffee sets complete the furnishing of a room. The floor is 
covered in summer by fine straw matting, in winter by rugs. 
The centre of the room remains empty. The reception-room 
of my Arab friend was hung with bright Damascus silks; over 
the door was an inscription in Arabic. At exactly twelve o'clock 



A FRIENDLY ARAB. 197 

the meal began. The drapery over the door leading to an in- 
ner court was deftly thrown aside, and a servant appeared bear- 
ing a large, round bowl of soup. He set it upon the low table, 
we took our places on cushions about ten inches high, and without 
further ceremony dipped our spoons in the big bowl and began 
eating, each one taking from the side of the bowl nearest him. 

The second course consisted of some kind of curiously cooked 
meat. It was brought in on a large platter already cut in pieces. 
There was no knife nor fork, so I proceeded to help myself 
with my wooden spoon, which I had taken the precaution to 
keep. My host looked in astonishment at my attempt to dish 
up meat with a spoon. Laying one hand gently on my arm, 
with his right hand he selected and handed me a choice piece. 
I took it from his fingers and ate it with the best grace I could. 
The third course was rice cooked in the Turkish fashion. It 
w^as covered with oil and tomato-sauce. I was glad I was not 
called on to eat that with my fingers. The wooden spoons were 
brought back once more. AVe dipped our spoons in together, 
eating from the common dish. There w^ere several other courses, 
including some delicious peaches from Damascus. At the con- 
clusion we retired to the divans, where we reclined, sipped cof- 
fee, and conversed. During the progress of the dinner there 
was little conversation ; the Turks do not like to distract their 
thoughts at meals. They speak in monosyllables or not at all. 
A napkin and a piece of bread is at each place. They help 
themselves with the fingers of the right hand. It is annoying 
to them to see guests help themselves with the left hand. Eu- 
ropeans, of course, often commit this breach of Turkish eti- 
quette through ignorance. It is in part on that account Turks 
dislike dining with Europeans. After each course a servant 
brings water with which to wash your fingers. 

I had considerable difficulty in persuading my friend Moha- 
din to accept my invitation to dine with me at the Hotel d'An- 
gleterre in Pera, the principal European hotel of the Turkish 
capital. After much coaxing my interpreter told me he con- 
sented, and I made preparations that night to receive him. 



198 A TEAMP TRIP. 

When, tlie next day, wc walked into the grand dining-room of 
the Hotel d'Angleterre, the guests there stared as if they had 
never seen an Arab before. Mohadin was as much at a loss with 
knives and forks as I had been the day before without them. He 
made one or two awkward attempts to cut his meat, and succeed- 
ed so badly that I called the waiter and made him cut it for him. 

During my stay in Constantinople I saw much of this 
friendly Arab. He introduced me into some places generally 
closed to Europeans. The morning I called to bid him good- 
by he seemed quite moved. Grasping my hand he gave me 
his blessing in Arabic; at this moment his servant handed 
him a neatly tied package. Mohadin gave me the package, 
and speaking through my interpreter, said, 

" My young friend, you are going home again. You will 
look back on this strange land as on a dream. Take this as 
a souvenir of your friend Mohadin. I had a son not long ago. 
He w^as your age ; his complexion was yours. You resemble 
him; but he is dead now. He died in Jerusalem." 

I pressed the old man's hand and departed. It had been 
remarked that the liking which Mohadin had for me, a stran- 
ger of another land and race, was something unusual. This 
fancied resemblance to a lost son explained the mystery. 
When I opened the package I found a handsome Turkish cos- 
tume — a fitting souvenir of my trip in the East and of my 
Oriental friend. 

At the time of my visit Mr. Jacob Spori was a Mormon mis- 
sionary at Constantinople. Mr. Spori's predecessor was a man 
of the Ananias type. Once a week he wrote to the Salt Lake 
Saints, giving wonderful accounts of his success, of his many 
conversions, and of the marvellous spread of the true faith. 
That the Turks, already familiar with polygamy, should accept 
the Mormon teachings seemed reasonable. The Saints received 
the missionary's reports for nine months without suspicion. 

^*Then," said Mr. Spori, "he made another requisition for 
funds to transport his converts. The last time money had 
been sent him for that purpose no converts ever appeared. 



STORES IN STAMBOUL. 199 

Suspicions were awakened. I was sent over to investigate. 
The missionary did not even await my arrival. He set out for 
some remote province in Asia. I shall not bother with him 
further, but shall devote myself to undoing the mischief he 
did here." 

Mr. Spori said he was born in Switzerland, that he early be- 
came converted to the true faith, and has since labored as 
missionary. When I called upon him he was studying a 
Turkish grammar preparatory to translating Mormon tracts 
into that language. 

" I prefer monogamy," said Mr. Spori, " but polygamy is a 
tenet of my religion." 

How can reason be used with such people? When in Salt 
Lake City I asked Amelia, Brigham Young's widow number 
seventeen, whether a woman could feel herself really beloved 
when there were so many to share her lord's affection. She 
smiled a frigid smile. 

*' Why not? Does a child feel unbeloved because there are 
sisters and brothers to share the parents' affections ? We all 
loved and respected the President, and he loved us. There were 
nineteen of us. W"e never had fewer than seventy-five at the 
family breakfast-table. It was lively and sociable." 

The stores in Stamboul are small, box-like affairs. A shop 
ten feet square by seven feet high is considered large. The 
proprietor squats in the middle of the floor, his goods piled 
around him. There he smokes his long pipe, or dozes, or plays 
a hand-organ. The hand-organs are used to attract customers. 
Many of the shops hire boys to grind on these hand-organs all 
day. 

Dogs are made special pets in Stamboul. They are publicly 
fed every Friday between twelve and one o'clock. An English 
physician, desiring to remove a few hundred of the surplus 
dogs that congregated round his door, imprudently attempted 
to poison them. He narrowly escaped being mobbed. 

Fountains are few and far between. When you find one a 
curious scene repays your trouble. Around the fountains of 



200 A TRAMP TRIP. 

the city may be seen at almost all hours a crowd of donkeys, 
rude carts, and water-carriers. One day I came across a caravan 
of camels. There were about one hundred and fifty of the 
beasts; they had evidently made a long journey, and their driv- 
ers were busy drawing them water. The camels were divided 
into gangs of eight or ten, each gang fastened together by a 
light chain. The poor beasts were loaded with mountains of 
baggage, cooking-utensils, skillets, pots, pans, etc. They lie on 
their stomachs, their legs curled under them in what seems a 
most uncomfortable position. After watering them the drivers 
went around with oil-cans and oiled their beasts under the 
legs and belly. 

Nominally, slavery in European Turkey has been abolished. 
It is an open secret, however, that girls of Georgia and Tscher- 
kessina are sold in Tophane. It is here that the harems are 
supplied. It is said the slaves are treated well. Their chil- 
dren are treated the same as the children of the master. Male 
white slaves are no longer made eunuchs, as was formerly the 
custom ; only blacks are now so treated. The Sultan selects 
for his harem a number of pretty slaves ; the one bearing the 
lirst male child becomes his official wife, and is regarded with 
great jealousy by the less fortunate concubines. 

Girls begin at ten years of age to wear veils. A long mantle 
covers the body from head to foot. Underneath is worn a 
shirt and a peculiar sort of trousers. Corsets are unknown. 
The bosom is covered by the end of the veil. Fashionable 
women color their finger and toe nails, the palms of the hands 
and the soles of the feet, a bright red. Women are forbidden 
to visit the European bazaars ; the order is, however, frequent- 
ly disobeyed. Under Sultan Mahmud, Turkish women took to 
visiting European bazaars to such an extent that an edict was 
issued commanding the shopkeepers to employ only old men 
in their bazaars. 

Although the Koran permits wives to the number of four, 
monogamy is the rule, on acconnt of the expense entailed by a 
plurality of wives. The average Turk marries early. -At 



THE TURKISH ARMY. 201 

eighteen or twenty he buys a slave who, after the birth of the 
first child, the law makes his legal wife. Divorce is easy. All 
that is necessary is mutual consent. A man can separate three 
times from his wife ; if he marries her a third time, the law 
compels him to stick it out to the end. 

The life of a well-to-do Turk must be a trifle monotonous. 
They lounge about on divans, napping, or smoking cigarettes, 
sipping coffee, eating sweetmeats, or, accompanied by a maid, 
they ride in "caiques" on the Golden Horn, shop at the ba- 
zaars, and visit the baths. They are treated as children or play- 
things. The Turk regards his wife merely as a means of grat- 
ifying his desires. 

The Turk is not provident for the future. 

'^ We Turks," they say, " are better Christians than you. 
We obey the injunction, * Let to-morrow take care of itself.' 
Christians forget that ; in their scramble after gain they lose 
faith and reverence for God." 

Of the many different peoples subject to the Sublime Porte 
the Albanians are the handsomest. They have tall, slender 
figures, and are extremely graceful. They make splendid sol- 
diers. A great part of the Turkish army consists of men of 
this race. Twenty years is the time of service ; three years in 
infantry of the line, three in infantry of the reserve, four years 
in the land reserve, class 1 ; four years in class 2, and six 
years in the militia. Christian subjects can purchase exemp- 
tion from military service upon payment of a certain sum of 
money. The Turkish year is shorter than the solar year by 
eleven days. It consists of twelve lunar months of twenty- 
nine to thirty days each. The reckoning is begun from sun- 
down. The sun sets at a different hour every day, so Turk- 
ish clocks require to be altered every day or two. It takes a 
skilled mathematician to keep the run of Turkish time. 

Estimating my expenses after a trip to Asia Minor, I found 

I had spent upward of eight thousand para. The figures 

sound appalling. I reduced it to American money, and it was 

not so bad. Eight thousand para are not more than six or 

9* 



202 A TRAMP TRIP. 

seven dollars. It requires forty para to make a piaster ; a pias- 
ter is nearly equal to eighteen pfennige ; five pfennige make a 
shade more than one cent. With this data the mathematician 
may calculate the exact amount spent in spending eight thou- 
sand Turkish para. When I bought a stamp at the German 
post-office, I handed the clerk a two -hundred -para piece, 
worth about eighteen cents. 

"Do you expect me to change that?" asked the clerk. 

" Certainly. Why not r 

The clerk saw I was fresh from foreign shores. He conde- 
scended to explain. 

" Do you not know, to change that would cost me twenty 
para? Small money is scarce. You must get it changed at 
a broker's." 

Such is the fact. The toll over the Golden Horn bridge is 
ten para ; if you hand the guard a forty-para piece he will re- 
turn only twenty para. He charges ten para for toll, and ten 
for changing your money. It need hardly be remarked that 
this system works a great hardship on the poor, who are paid 
their wages in a lump, but buy their supplies from time to 
time in small quantities. They lose from twenty to twenty- 
five per cent, at the money-changers'. 



DIFFICULTY IN LEAVING TURKEY. 203 



CHAPTER XXL 

THE BLACK SEA. — DIFFICULTY IN LEAVING TURKEY AND ENTERING 
RUSSIA.— THE czar's. METHOD OF BUILDING RAILROADS: SIMPLE 
BUT INCONVENIENT. — PEASANTS AND PEOPLE. — CONDITION OF 
THE WORKING-CLASSES. 

When preparing to leave Constantinople for Russia, I was 
told that permission from the Russian consul would be neces- 
sary. I hurried to that official and presented my card and 
passport. He scanned both closely as he demanded, 

" Who are you ?" 

I pointed to my card and passport. 

**How do I know that is your name or passport? Go to 
your consul. You must show me that you are yourself." 

The American consul knew no more of me than did the 
Russian; but for the sum of 1500 para (about $1.40) he very 
obligingly certified that I was whoever I claimed to be, and, 
armed with the document he gave me, I returned again to the 
charge. The mighty man looked at the pass carefully, scanned 
it from every point of view, then demanded why I was going 
to Russia ? 

" To see the country." 

^^For nothing else?" 

" Nothing." ^ 

"What is your business?" 

"Travelling." 

" Are you married ?" and so forth and so on through a long 
and severe examination. 

When finally his numerous questions had been satisfactorily 
answered, a huge book was brought forth, and the long col- 
umns searched to see if my name w^as among the list of exiles 
or " suspects." Apparently it was not, for after a while he 



204 A TRAMP TRIP. 

shut Lis big book again, and with ratlier a sour look, as if 
disappointed at not finding me on the list banished to Siberia, 
told me my application would be granted, and to return the 
next day for my pass and the vise, I went back the next day, 
paid the Russian consul four hundred para, and received the 
necessary papers. Then came another struggle, this time with 
the Turk; for without the permission of the "Sun and Light 
of the World," of the Sublime Porte, no one can leave the 
realms of Turkey. Happily the American and Russian vises 
were not without an effect, and after only a slight delay the 
heathen pocketed his fee, scratched something on my pass in 
Arabic, and intimated that I was free to go. At the harbor 
there was one last struggle. The customs-officers w^ent through 
jny knapsack to see that nothing was being carried away that 
should not be carried away ; and then I hired a skiff — "caiques" 
they are called in Turkey — and started for the steamer, which 
lay at anchor in the Golden Horn a hundred yards from the 
shore. 

One would suppose that after providing all these official 
documents, and undergoing such an array of formalities, there 
w^ould be no further trouble in leaving their blessed land. The 
heathen Turk, however, for "tricks that are dark and ways that 
are vain," can "see "the heathen Chinee and go him a hundred 
better. Hardly was the caique afloat than I was signalled by 
a small boat in the middle of the stream, which in a few mo- 
ments pulled up along-side, while a villanous -looking fellow, 
black as a coal-miner, climbed over into my boat and signed me 
to unstrap my baggage. He was another customs-officer, and 
possessed of a wonderful amount of impudence and boorish- 
ness. Before touching my sack he said, 

" Backsheesh ?" (drink-money). 

I refused to give anything, whereupon he began a search as 
if expecting to find stolen diamonds. Everything was dumped 
out on the bottom of the caique. He took out my letters, un- 
folded them, shook the envelopes. Every few seconds he 
would say, " Backsheesh !" and on my continued refusal he 



THE PASSPORT. 205 

would renew the examination with still greater vigor. Of 
course it was a mere attempt to extort money. He even went 
into my pockets, and required me to show my watch and pock- 
et-book. When at length he had exhausted even his resources 
for annoying, he climbed back into his boat fairly shaking with 
rao:e, while I looked him in the face and lauo'hed. He had 
worked over the baggage half an hour, and still had extorted 
no ** backsheesh." The thought made him furious. 

" Englishman," he muttered, " no give backsheesh. English- 
man damn fool !" 

On board of the Russian steamer my passport was again ex- 
amined. Not until the vessel was fally under way did I feel at 
all certain that I would be allowed to get out of the country. 

Leaving Constantinople, it is three hours before the steam- 
er passes out of the Bosporus into the Black Sea. During 
that time the eye is feasted on both the European and Asiatic 
shores, with a view of long lines of forts and bristling guns. 
The spot where Mohammed's big cannon was planted, and the 
old castle that he erected to the terror and dismay of the feeble 
Emperor Palseologus, are passed ; the towers and minarets of 
the Eastern capital become dimmer and dimmer in the dis- 
tance, and at last the steamer emerges in the open sea. Two 
days and nights pass; then on the morning of the third day 
the traveller awakes, and knows he is in Russia by the strange 
faces and uniforms around him. They are there to see that 
none leave the vessel without authority. And no one is given 
authority to leave until he has submitted to the doctor's inspec- 
tion and produced his passport. 

It was a motley crew the doctor had to examine that morn- 
ing. Europeans, Turks, Tartars, Arabs, and specimens of a 
dozen other people passed before him in single file while he 
looked at their tongues or punched them in the ribs to ascer- 
tain their physical condition. Fortunately, all were in good 
health, and we were permitted to land as soon as the officers 
had finished examining the passports. 

In entering Russia it is necessary to be circumspect with re- 



206 A TRAMP TRIP. 

gard to the literature you take with you. Books are examined 
at seaport and frontier stations, and those advocating freedom 
or denouncing tyranny are confiscated. As for newspapers, 
those that do not fill all the requirements of the Russian cen- 
sorship are run through an inking machine and then ironically 
returned to the owner. A disagreeable thing about this busi- 
ness is, that often the official does not understand the book or 
paper he is examining, and, to be on the sure side, condemns 
it to the daubing-press. In this way it not infrequently hap- 
pens that the most innocent poems or fairy-tales are returned 
to their owner only after being daubed with ink and rendered 
wholly illegible. Byron's works are not permitted in Turkey. 
His poems are considered too democratic, and calculated to 
arouse the Greek and reawaken his dreams of liberty. 

Odessa presents a very handsome appearance from the sea. 
The buildings are modern and imposing. There is a magnifi- 
cent flight of marble stairs a hundred feet wide, leading from 
the sea to the summit of the bluff on which the city stands, 
while the streets seem, to one just from the labyrinth of wind- 
ing, filthy alleys in Stamboul, a collection of the finest and 
handsomest avenues in Europe. They are broad and well 
paved, and on each side, flanking the sidewalks, is a double 
row of shade-trees. This is not the case on one or two streets 
only, but the great majority are so shaded, adding no little to 
the general elegance and beauty of the city. 

One of the first thino;s that strikes a strano;er's attention in 
Russia is the peculiar appearance of the cabmen, or of the 
" Iswoschtschik," as they are called in Russian. They wear a 
long, clumsy dress that touches the ground. In the middle, 
for a foot above and below the waist, it is plaited and thickly 
padded with cotton or wool : a very good sort of cushion, but 
when cabby (iswoschtschik) stands up his great gown protrudes 
in the middle in a way most suggestive and ridiculous. His 
bushy head is generally surmounted by the tiniest sort of 
queer-style Derby hat. The cab he drives is almost as absurd. 
The dash-board, and indeed the whole front part, is made of 



RUSSIA A PRISON. 207 

sheet-iron ; tlie seat is very small and uncomfortable ; and as 
there is no cover or back it is often a difficult matter to stay- 
seated when driving over rough stones or turning a sharp cor- 
ner. Over the horse's neck is an arch or hoop sticking up two 
feet or more, and hung with bells. 

The overcoat of a fashionable Circassian contains on the 
breast a row of cartridge-pockets, and at his side he carries a 
sword or hanger. These gentlemen wear their trousers stuffed 
in very high-topped boots, and present quite a fierce and for- 
bidding air as they saunter through the streets, occasionally 
toying with the gun or sword at their side. I saw several of 
them in Odessa. As I gazed upon them from a respectful dis- 
tance, they brought up thoughts of the festive cowboy in the 
Far West. The Far West and the Far East agree in this re- 
spect if in no other — both can show some wild and weird 
specimens of humanity. I will not assert that Russian ladies 
partake in this peculiarity, but certainly, if some things which 
occur in Odessa may be taken as a criterion, they too have a 
little of the Western chic about them. It is not at all unusual 
to see the nicest-dressed ladies spring on and off a street car 
while it is in motion. The sight of a lady smoking excites in 
Russia no more remark than does a man's drinking a glass of 
beer in Germany. 

Russia is like a vast prison. The prisoner in a dungeon can 
walk within certain limits as freely as the freest. It is only 
when he would go farther that he encounters the walls, and is 
stopped. So, in Russia, as long as you remain within a narrow 
limit, you may possibly forget that you are in a prison. It is 
not easy to forget it when you would stir. Walls — that is, 
officers — meet you at every turn. 

On arriving at a hotel the first thing demanded is your pass- 
port, which you must carry to the police and have registered 
and stamped, you, by-the-way, having to pay for the registra- 
tion and stamp. When you leave a city the police must again 
be notified; and from beginning to end it seems as if every 
new-comer is suspected of being a Nihilist or Dynamiter. It 



208 



A TRAMP TRIP. 



is dangerous to converse on social or political topics ; eacli one 
suspects tlie other of spying. It is so easy to be denounced, 
so easy to be waltzed off to Siberia, that the truth of the prov- 
erb, "Silence is golden," is appreciated in no other part of the 
earth as it is in Russia. 

Some thirty years ago, when the first big railroad was pro- 
jected in Russia, two cities disputed as to which should have 
the road. The matter was referred to the Czar. 

" irm," said his Majesty, " not at all a difficult matter to 
decide." And laying a ruler between the two termini, "Build 
your road here,'''' he said. 

As a result of this simple method of adjusting matters, rail- 
roads in Russia run pretty much in straight lines. The stations 
are anywhere from two to ten miles from the towns. As if 
to make up for the inconvenience he thus occasioned, the Czar 
sent to America for Ross Winans, an American engineer, and 
engaged him to introduce the American system of railroading. 

Russia, alone of all the European States (excepting a por- 
tion of little Switzerland), has long, open coaches instead of 
the miserable little boxes called compartments. On the trains 
they have not only one conductor, they have half a dozen. 
The head-conductor on the train out of Odessa was the most 
gorgeous and imposing individual I ever saw. His boots, 
glistening with polish, came above his knees ; his belt was 
very broad, and was as shiny as his boots ; his coal-black beard 
came down to his waist. A fur cap surmounted his head; his 
uniform gleamed with decorations and medals. Whenever this 
mighty Mogul deigned to take up tickets, two sub-conductors 
preceded him, announced his approach, and shook by the shoul- 
ders such of the passengers as were asleep, to prepare them for 
the great man^s arrival. 

At stations there is a great deal of ceremony connected with 
starting the train. The first conductor nearest the engine blows 
a whistle; the second conductor, a little farther down the line, 
blows his whistle; and so it continues to the Grand Mogul, 
who, looking majestically around, blows his whistle, whereupon 



I 



THE RUSSIAN PEASANT. 209 

the blowing starts back on the line to number one again. 
Number one gives another blast, the engine answers, and at 
length the train moves out. 

Eussian peasants are inordinately fond of tea. The train 
never stopped but that a score or more wild, shaggy-looking 
fellows rushed out with their tin pots for hot water, which they 
brought back into the car and converted into tea. Before 
beginning a meal the Eussian peasant takes off his hat and 
crosses himself; he does the same whenever a church is passed. 
I was often surprised to see every man in the car take off his 
hat and begin a series of salaams and prostrations. On survey- 
ing the surrounding country the reason became apparent; the 
gilded dome of some church was visible. 

It is not in every country that one can see one's fellow-pas- 
sengers get down on their knees and bump the floor with their 
heads. 

An incident which occurred the morning of my arrival in 
Ovlessa was encouraging. A man whom I stopped on the street 
said, 

** Italian-sky ?" meaning if I were Italian. 

"No," said I, *' American-sky." 

The man seemed to understand perfectly, and elated with 
success, I tried him further. I said, 

" What-sky is the name-sky of this- sky ?" 

Alas! The plan failed to work to that extent. American- 
sky and Italian-sky were about the only words of Eussian that 
I mastered. In the Black Sea ports Italian is of some slight 
help, and in Western frontier towns German is occasionally 
understood. Generally speaking, however, the only language 
of any use in Eussia is Eussian. 

The Eussian peasant and workman is a marvel of supersti- 
tion — such greediness, such filth, such degradation and cring- 
ingness ! I have seen more than one churl, clad in a suit of cow- 
hide, enter an eating-house, deposit scythe, bags, and other bag- 
gage on the floor, and then fall to eating with ravenous haste. 
They fill their mouths to overflowing with great chunks of 



210 



A TEAMP TRIP. 



greasy meat and black bread, and before disposing of one 
mouthful they take in another. 

As wretched a sight as is the Russian laborer himself, his 
home is more wretched still. I was approaching one day in 
South Russia, on the Black Sea, what seemed a lot of hay- 
stacks, but which proved to be a " Bauerdorf '' — peasant village. 
Each hut was covered quite deep with hay. Into this hay the 
cattle eat, so that by spring or summer the hut is uncovered. 
The village seemed as if it had been set down in that spot 
temporarily, and then forgotten. All around was a vast, tree- 
less plain, across which the wind swept, biting and cutting like 
a knife. The miserable straw-covered huts, each about eight 
by twelve feet by six feet high, are arranged in one long, 
straggling street, and that street made of the sticky, black soil 
which characterizes that whole part of the country. 

The creatures who inhabit these villages dress in skins ; their 
liair and beard grow long, and are seldom or never cut. They 
look wild and shaggy. Very rarely is one able to read. Their 
lives are spent in the hardest toil, with no other thought than 
to fill their stomachs with gross food, to keep off the freezing 
cold of winter, and to obey the priests in this world that they 
may be sure of a free passport into the next. 

Ask a Russian bricklayer or carpenter what wages he re- 
ceives, and he will reply, a ruble and a half, or, if skilled, two 
rubles, a day — that is, from seventy cents to a dollar. So far 
this appears quite as good as wages in other European countries, 
but there is another side to the story. The Russian bricklayer 
may earn two rubles a day, but his terrible climate only allows 
him an average of about one hundred working-days a year. 
Two hundred days it is too cold to work (snow lies on the 
streets of St. Petersburg one hundred and seventy- one days 
out of the year), and fifty or sixty days are consumed in cele- 
brating religious holidays. The small sum received for the 
remnant of time left in which it is possible to work must 
suffice to support him the whole year. Generally, employers 
make contracts by the year. One hundred and forty to one 



THE RUSSIAN WORKMAN. 211 

hundred and sixty rubles will represent the yearly wages of the 
average bricklayer or carpenter. In Italy, where one can pluck 
grapes from the vines and live in the open air, it is possible to 
conceive a man supporting a family on eighty dollars a year ; 
how, though, is it possible in a land where the winter's snow 
endures eight months out of every twelve? where the great 
struggle of life is to keep warm? I put this question to a 
Russian in Moscow. Said he, 

" The Russian workman is like the bear in one respect — he 
is a hibernating animal. Most workmen own or rent a small 
piece of land on the plains, within a few days' journey of the 
city wherein they work. The w^orkman only comes to the city 
in summer ; with cold weather's approach he returns to his mud 
or straw -covered hut, and remains buried there until summer 
comes again. He wears a suit of skins ; this suit he lives in, 
sleeps in, eats in, in short, he very rarely removes it in the 
course of a whole winter, or from August to May, or even 
June. His food in winter does not cost ten kopecks — five cents 
— a day. His clothing is a small item, as one suit lasts ten or 
twelve years. Almost the only fuel he has is the peat dug from 
the swampy plains surrounding his hovel." 

In Russia there is not that division of labor which the prac- 
tice of other nations has found desirable. For instance, there 
is no hod-carrier. A bricklayer brings his own brick and 
mortar. 

A "dessatim" of land — about six acres — in the vicinity of 
Moscow is worth fifty rubles (twenty-five dollars). Better land 
costs in the neighborhood of two hundred rubles per dessatim. 
The land around Moscow is poor. It is too sandy, and the 
plains surrounding the ancient capital are almost totally unin- 
habited. 



212 A TRAMP TKIP. 



CHAPTER XXII. 

THE ELIXIR OF RAPIDITY: STRANGE STORY OF A RUSSIAN 
NIHILIST. 

In an eating-house in Southern Eussia I fell in with a long- 
haired student who spoke broken German. It had been weeks 
since I had spoken a word. I passed a day in the student's 
society with considerable pleasure. He related a curious story, 
which he called ^^Das Elixir der Schnelligkeit " (The Elixir of 
Rapidity). 

** Near the mouth of the Ural River, on the Siberian frontier 
of Russia," said the long-haired student, " was at one time a 
small hut which, in an isolated section of the country, was en- 
circled with so thick and impenetrable a growth of fir and Po- 
lish wierzba trees as to escape the detection of the few travel- 
lers whom necessity or adverse fortune cast in that desolate re- 
gion. The low hut, without window or chimney — probably in 
years gone by the retreat of some fugitive Jew — had until re- 
cently been deserted. There were cobwebs in the dark corners ; 
the yard lying around the hut, shut in by a palisade of thickly- 
set firs, w^as overgrown with rank grasses, with the ruta, the roza, 
and other herbs peculiar to Western Siberia. The faint plash 
of the Ural as it rippled on its way to the Caspian Sea was the 
only sound that disturbed the solemn stillness. The sun had 
set behind the snow-capped peaks of the Ural Mountains, a dull 
light flickered out into the darkness through the chinks and 
cracks of the dilapidated hovel. 

"" Lying on a pallet in one corner of this low room was a man 
of Eastern dress and appearance. His furrowed and bronzed 
face was framed in long locks of white hair, his beard was flow- 
ing and gray. Near, on a stool, his face resting in his hands, 



A CURIOUS STORY. 213 

was a man of exactly opposite type — youtlif nl as his companion 
was aged, dress after the North Russian style, and his hair and 
mustache as black as that of the sage was gray. But with all 
his youth and health, his mien seemed that of extreme dejec- 
tion. 

"*Tell me, son of the West!' said the old man, raising 
himself and observing his companion's dejection — Hell me, art 
thou lonely in this dreary hovel ? Do thy studies interest thee 
no more?' 

"*0h, father!' exclaimed the youth, impetuously, turning 
and meeting the eye of the patriarch as it gazed searchingly 
into his, * of what use are my wanderings, my studies ? My 
thoughts are ever away, away in Nishni-Novgorod with one 
who my heart tells me is lost to me forever.' 

*^ For some moments the graybeard made no reply to this 
outburst, but, wrapped in silence, gazed thoughtfully into the 
smouldering fire. At length he spoke : 

" * Allah is great, Allah is powerful ! What is it weighs on 
thy heart ? Thou hast saved Allah's servant from the Russian 
dog of a Christian — Allah will help thee; what is it weighs on 
thee ?' 

"'Oh, if your conjurer's art and magic could help me!' ex- 
claimed the youth. * They wanted to burn you for a sorcerer ; 
if it be true, if you are master of magic, you can, you will help 
me.' 

" The old man gravely nodded his head ; the young man 
went on with his story: 

"*A year ago the handsomest girl in all Nishni-Novgorod 
promised me her heart and hand, I was happiness itself. But 
her cruel father declared none but a millionaire should ever mar- 
ry his daughter. I was moderately rich, but where was I to 
get a million ? It was then near the time of the great races. 
In an evil hour I determined to risk my fortune on the race- 
course and win my ladylove or lose all. Day after day I was 
the first at the betting-stand, and day after day my purse grew 
thinner and thinner ; and then came the last day when, of the 



214 A TRAMP TKIP. 

inheritance left me by my father, there remained but a single 
thousand rubles.' 

" ' " What if it is lost ?" I thought. '' As well without a ko- 
peck as with a beggarly thousand rubles ;" and so going to the 
betting-stand, I placed my last ruble. 

" ' The bell was tapped, the jockeys drew their horses in line, 
the signal to start was given, and forth they shot like arrows. 
Around they flew almost as the wind; now at the half-mile 
post, now obscured by a cloud of dust, now again in sight, the 
jockeys plying their whips, the fleet-footed animals straining to 
the utmost. My heart fairly rose to my mouth as I looked at 
those horses and thought of the wife and fortune that were at 
stake for me. So far it seemed even, then of a sudden the blue 
jockey bounded half a length ahead. 

" ' "The Blue ! the Blue !" shouted a thousand voices, as the 
horses came tearing down the home-stretch. The Blue is ahead 
— it will, it must win ! I was almost overcome with excitement. 
There was a loud cry, a cloud of dust hid the riders from view. 
"When it floated away, there lay the blue jockey pinioned to the 
ground by his fallen horse. The race was lost — I was ruined! 

" ' I left Nishni-Novgorod and the woman I loved, to wan- 
der whither I knew nor cared not. Chance led me to the Asi- 
atic frontier. One day, at Saratow, an Oriental was displaying 
the mysteries of his Eastern magic. The superstitious rabble 
attacked the sage. I came to the rescue. You know the rest 
— how we left Sarotow by night, how we crossed tlie Volga, and, 
after a weary march across the mountains, at last found refuge 
in this deserted hovel. Such, oh father, is my story. Of what 
use then are the mysteries you teach me, since they do not, can- 
not restore to me my Nikolajewna, my darling, my lost love V 

*^ During the recital of this story, and for some moments af- 
ter its conclusion, the patriarch remained silent, as if lost in deep 
meditation. At length, drawing his shrunken figure to a sit- 
ting posture, he turned to his companion, and in low, meas- 
ured tones thus addressed him : 

" * Allah is great, Allah is powerful ! Though he loves not to 



A STRANGE TRANSFORMATION. 215 

aid the unbeliever, tbou hast preserved his servant, and through 
his servant will he help thee. Thou wouldst regain thy love — 
'tis well. The servant of Allah will help thee.' 

'' ' But how, oh father, how V 

" * Is not Allah great and powerful V asked the sage, with re- 
bukeful tone. * Bring me my chest; the servant of Allah will 
help thee.' 

" Obedient to this request, the youth brought forth from a 
hidden recess a small chest which, the sage opened, disclosing, 
cases of phials, powders, acids, scales, a crucible, and a quantity 
of strange plants. The Oriental's eye glistened as he gazed on 
these instruments of his mystic art. Quickly arranging the 
cases before him, he selected from the many varieties of plants 
in the chest one of large leaf and long, juicy stem. These he 
placed in the crucible and subjected to a high temperature. As 
the plants sizzled and parched, a strong incense filled the low 
apartment, and a pungently odorous liquid was distilled in the 
bottom of the vessel. These precious drops the sage watched 
with careful anxiety ; when the leaves were parched dry, the 
drops were poured in a blue phial, and the baked and crumbling 
leaves were minutely pulverized. Long into the night was this 
strange work continued, while the youth sat looking on in dis- 
trusting wonder. Noxious gases floated out through the cracks 
in the rickety walls ; the gurgle of liquids poured from one 
phial into another, telling of strange mixtures and compounds, 
sounded faintly on the still night air ; the desolate hovel was, 
as by enchantment, transformed into a magician's or chemist's 
laboratory. 

" At length the Oriental paused. Slowly sifting a white, silver 
powder on the glowing embers, he began an incantation in his 
strange Eastern tongue. As he spoke, a drowsy incense filled 
the room ; the youth's head fell on his breast, his eyes closed 
in sleep. It was in the gray of the morning before he awoke. 
The sage lay reclining on his pallet. 

" * Allah's will is done,' said the sage. * Thou wilt be happy. 
Go bring from the river a turtle, that I may make clear to thee.' 



216 A TEAMP TRIP. 

"On the youth's return, the sage, stretching the turtle on its 
back, withdrew the legs from under the shell, and proceeded to 
make a slight incision in the muscles of each leg. Then pro- 
ducing the phial of distilled drops and a hypodermic syringe, 
he injected in each of the incisions a small quantity of the 
liquid. 

" ^ Now set him without the door.' 

"The command was obeyed. The sluggish animal started 
around the circle within the palisade of firs. As he went, his 
legs moved faster, he fell into a trot ; in a few seconds the 
turtfe's speed had increased with such astounding rapidity that 
the black shell on his back was scarcely visible — he was liter- 
ally flying around the ring ! The youth stared in amazement 
at this miracle of turtles, the sage stood calm and smiling. 

" ' Allah is great ; his will is done,' he said. * My son, thou 
art an unbeliever. It is not permitted to reveal the secret of 
this compound to the unbeliever, but this phial may be in- 
trusted to thee. A single drop of this oxygenated liquid hypo- 
dermically injected in an animal's leg-muscles will result as thou 
seest in that turtle. It is the Elixir of Rapidity 1' 

"Now, now the youth understands : with this elixir he may re- 
gain his fortune and his love ! Falling on his knees before his 
benefactor, he attempted to pour out his thanks. The patri- 
arch smiled benignly. 

" * Arise, my son. Thou owest me no thanks. I but repay 
the debt I owed thee. The spirit of Allah is in this elixir; 
Allah will restore thee thy love. But the servant of Allah 
must go ; he has dwelt long enough in the land of the Christian. 
Let us part here on the banks of the Ural.' 

" The Oriental extended his arms with a parting salaam, while 
the eyes of the youth filled with tears. His heart had learned 
to love this lonely wanderer, whose life he had saved from the 
superstition of a Russian rabble. The sage, "who had injected 
a few drops of the fluid through the skin of his own thighs, 
began to slowly move away. As the powerful liquid assumed 
its sway, he waved his companion a last farewell ; his weird 



THE KACE. 217 

figure and long gray hair streaming in the wind, faded rapidly 
out of sight as, his speed increasing, he ran with incredible 
rapidity towards the mountains in the East. The Elixir of 
Rapidity had borne him away ahuost like the wind, leaving the 
youth desolate and alone in that dreary hovel. 

** It was race- week at Nishni-Novgorod. Baron Nikolaus's 
celebrated racer had been entered, to the terror of all competi- 
tors. The baron himself, accompanied by his beautiful daugh- 
ter Nikolajewna, occupied a seat in his carriage near the grand 
stand. So great was the fame of the baron's horse, it was 
doubtful whether there would be found any bold enough to 
enter against him. The president of the club was on the point 
of requesting the baron to withdraw, when a stranger, stepping 
forward, quietly remarked that he was ready to match his horse 
against the baron's racer. 

** * You !' ejaculated the president. ' Are you aware whom 
it is you encounter?' 

" * Perfectly,' replied the stranger, coldly. 

** * And where is the steed you have the temerity to enter 
against the fleetest racer in all Europe ?' 

" * Already on the track.' 

" Following the stranger's glance, the president beheld, a few 
yards from his stand, a scraggy-looking animal, halting in gait 
and blind in one eye. 

" * What mean you, sir V he exclaimed, indignantly. * What 
mean you by running such a — a — a scrub, sir ? This is no place 
for foolery.' 

" * Nor do I mean foolery,' said the stranger, with a cynical 
smile. 'Do you see this? It is an unlimited letter of credit 
on the Rothschilds at Frankfort. Say to the baron I will wager 
a million rubles on the success of the animal you call a scrub.' 

" The message was conveyed to the baron, and quickly spread 
through the crowd. *Some wealthy lunatic anxious to be rid 
of his money,' was the universal verdict. 

" * A madman 1' the baron exclaimed, indignant at the idea of 
10 



218 A TRAMP TEIP. 

the scrub running against liis fleet racer. It was observed, how- 
ever, that the baron was not averse to winning the stranger's 
money, even though he were a madman. 

" ' We must teach him a lesson,' he said ; and the enormous 
wager of the stranger's million against the baron's fortune was 
soon arranged. Baron Nikolaus was reputed worth, at the least, 
five million rubles, but the odds, five to one, seemed nothing 
wheii one looked at the two horses. The idea that the stran- 
ger's hobbledy, lame-footed scrub had the slightest chance of 
winning appeared too monstrous to entertain for a moment. 
As the judges were on the point of giving the starting signal, 
the stranger requested permission to examine his animal. 

** * I make it a rule to see that all is right before starting,' he 
said, with a queer smile. 

" * Certainly,' the judges replied ; / and if you can right the 
hobbledy gait and blind eye of your scrub you may win after 
all.' 

'* The stranger, making no reply, approached his horse and 
began to examine his limbs. None of the thousands of eyes 
that were fastened upon him knew what was going on when, 
v;ith a small syringe, he hypodermically injected in the fore and 
hind legs a few drops of a liquid taken from a phial carried in 
his pocket. So quietly and skilfully was this operation per- 
formed that it was unobserved ; nor, had it been seen, would 
the public have understood its connection with the subsequent 
amazing event. 

" The signal to start w^as given. The baron's racer shot forth 
like an arrow ; the stranger's miserable scrub ambled slowly 
olf at a hobbling gait, amid the jeers and hoots of the populace. 
But their shouts and laughter gradually lessened, and finally 
gave way to amazed silence as the scrub, seemingly aided by 
magic, increased his speed with marvellous rapidity, gaining 
every moment, and in ten seconds shooting by the baron's racer 
like a gust of wind. Before his competitor had made the first 
mile, the scrub had made the complete circuit, dashed by the 
judges' stand, and was flying around on the second mile. Judges, 



euined! 219 

people, all too amazed to speak, sat dumfoiinded, while the 
stranger's horse continued flying round the course with such 
astounding rapidity as to be scarcely visible. 

"Towards the fifth mile, long after the baron's racer had left 
the course, the strange steed's speed began to slacken, and final- 
ly he drew up before the eyes of the dazed crowd, quivering in 
every nerve, the perspiration dripping from every pore. His 
jockey, who, after the first mile, had given up all attempt at 
curbing his speed, and simply held on, clutching him around 
the neck with might and main, now tumbled to the ground 
almost paralyzed with fear. It is impossible to describe the 
uproar and confusion that ensued. The senses of the people 
were paralyzed ; one thing w^as clearly apparent : by some un- 
heard - of, some inconceivable means, the stranger's scrub had 
won, and the baron was a ruined man. That night Baron Niko- 
laus received a letter : 

" * Two years ago,' began the letter, * I had the honor of be- 
ing a suitor for your daughter's hand. You said the winner of 
your daughter's hand must be the owner of a million. I have 
now a second time the honor of suing for her hand. My 
present suit will, I trust, be successful. I have the pleasure of 
signing myself the possessor of five times the necessary million. 

" ' Paul Petrowitsch.' 

** Of course the baron gave his consent ; but it was not until 
after the marriage that he learned that his son-in-law and the 
winner of his fortune were one and the same." 



220 A TKAMP TRIP. 



CHAPTER XXIII. 

IN THE HEART OF RUSSIA. — HOW TAXES ARE COLLECTED. — THE PIL- 
GRIM CHURCH AND THE WONDERFUL PICTURE OF THE MOTHER OF 
GOD. — ARRESTED FOR WRITING IN MY NOTE -BOOK. — THE CZAR'S 
PALACE.— MOSCOW AND ST. PETERSBURG. 

I ARRIVED in Kiev one Sunday niglit in a freezing rain. It 
was bitter cold. Wearied with long nights and days of jour- 
neyings, I never before felt so dispirited. I had managed to 
get a little troubled sleep by spreading my rubber coat on the 
floor under the benches of the railroad car; but it seemed to 
me my eyes had hardly closed before the black-bearded con- 
ductor pulled me out and I found w^e were at Kiev. I stepped 
on the station platform feeling utterly lost. I was in the heart 
of Russia, ignorant of a single word of the language, and, worst 
of all, with a pocket-book depleted to an alarming thinness. 
The next morning I hurried to the post-office. The draft I 
was expecting had not come. I walked to the heights over- 
looking the Dnieper and the adjacent swampy plains. As I 
gazed on those vast swamps extending hundreds of versts tow- 
ards Moscow, the possibility of having to make the journey 
on foot was anything but cheerful. I was greatly relieved next 
day on receiving the draft. 

In Kiev I saw what seemed the side-show of an American 
circus. There was a squeaking hand - organ, a ticket - vender 
with his (presumably, for it was in Russian) "' Step this way, 
gentlemen, right this way, for the greatest show on earth." 
On broad sheets of canvas, to afford an idea of the unparalleJed 
wonders within, were hideous lying pictures. I paid twenty- 
five kopecks (twelve and a half cents) to see this aggregation 
of marvels. What did I see ? An Edison phonograph ! — that 
was the entire show. It reminded me of a show I saw in Rome, 



THE PILGRIM CHUECH OF KIEV. 221 

where, wlien returning from the Vatican, a flaming poster on a 
little side street caught my eye. It announced that in the 
" Stabilimento grandioso" adjoining was to be seen the most 
marvellous collection in Kome, all for the modest sum of forty 
centessimi — eight cents. T paid eight cents, and saw — a lot of 
photographs! They were lying on a table in a heap. I, who 
had just seen the originals in the Vatican free of charge, paid 
eight cents to see poor photographs in the '^ Stabilimento 
grand ioso !" 

The Pilgrim Church of Kiev is surrounded by a high wall. 
Half a dozen or more gilded domes surmount the roof ; its ap- 
pearance is Oriental. When you enter the gate of the big wall 
you pass between two lines of beggars, and find yourself in the 
church amid a labyrinth of narrow and croohed passages, the 
walls of which are decorated with most doleful and lugubrious- 
looking frescos of saints and apostles. Pictures of Christ and 
the Virgin are numerous, and are set in frames of gold and 
jewels. Some of these frames contain jewels worth half a mill- 
ion dollars. The celebrated painting of the Virgin at Moscow 
is valued at even. greater figures, on account of the brilliant 
stones in its frame. The Moscow Virgin is used to heal the 
sick and bring back to life the dying. The picture with its 
dazzling frame is placed on a car with great ceremony, and 
drawn by six horses to the house where the miracle is to be 
performed. To Americans accustomed only to read of mira- 
cles, not to see them, this ceremony is interesting. A grand 
cavalcade of priests and people starts from the little church op- 
posite the Kremlin to accompany the Virgin's picture on its 
holy mission. 

The Pilgrim Church at Kiev has nothing to rival the mir- 
acle Virgin painting of Moscow ; it has, however, other feat- 
ures as interesting. Three hundred thousand people visit the 
church every year. Pilgrims are met on the road-side long 
before the church is reached — some in skins, some in rags, 
some without shoes, their feet blistered and almost bleeding 
from cold and fatigue. They walk hundreds of miles, and a 



222 A TEAMP TRIP. 

few, it is said, come from the distant provinces of Siberia. 
Surrounding the church was a large encampment. The shao-- 
gy, strange -looking people were camped out with their pots 
and kettles and skins. One old woman was bent double under 
a load of pans and kitchen effects. The pilgrims come many 
miles, pray in the church, camp on the plains for a few days' 
rest, then trudge back to their distant hovels and resume their 
daily rounds of drudgery. 

Within the Pilgrim Church I saw several hundred long- 
haired, wild-looking people kneeling, crossing themselves, and 
every moment or two striking the floor with their heads. One 
gray-haired old man, with a bag of potatoes and black bread 
slung over his shoulder, kissed nearly everything in the church. 
He kissed the floor, the walls, the corners, the pictures — in 
short, everything that was kissable he kissed. I almost feared 
to turn lest he might kiss me too. 

The market of Kiev is in a rough, cobble - paved square. 
Tbe venders squat on the pavement under the open sky, their 
goods and wares around them. Old moth-eaten furs, high boots 
that reach to the waist, cucumber pickles, horseshoe nails, rail- 
road spikes, scrap-iron — these are a few of the articles that may 
sometimes be obtained of one and the same vender. They sit 
there in that open square, rain or shine, hot or cold. When it 
rains they hoist their old umbrellas; when cold they draw their 
skin coats and dilapidated furs closer around them ; when it 
turns hot — well, when it turns hot they simply remove super- 
fluous clothing. The Russian peasant studies convenience rath- 
er than appearance. The men seemed to me to have very long 
bodies and very short legs. The throat is short, the neck thick 
and muscular. Their hands and feet are often small and well 
formed. They allow their beard to grow ; the hair is also 
worn long. Russian women possess the same general charac- 
teristics as the men. They have not as good teeth, the reason 
of which is their inordinate fondness for sweets. 

The rate of taxation in Russia is so high that the lower classes 
and many of the smaller merchants not only cannot pay their 



BURDENSOME TAXES. 223 

taxes, but have no hope or idea of ever being able to pay them. 
Two methods are taken by the Government to remedy this. 
First, when a town or village fails to come up with its quota of 
tax, the leading or most well-to-do men of that town or village 
are called to the metropole's office and told that the tax must 
be paid; that they will be held responsible. By this simple 
device, when a community is unable to pay its taxes, one or 
two rich men pay for the community. 

The other method for rebuking delinquent tax-payers is to 
flog them. One does not hear much of this in the papers, for 
they dare not mention it. The traveller into the small interior 
towns of Russia, however, may not infrequently see citizens 
tied to posts and thoroughly flogged for not being able to pay 
their tax. If the merchant is a *' leading" man, his wealth is 
confiscated ; if he is a poor man he is flogged. Verily the lot 
of the Russian tax-payer is not a happy one. 

So much for internal taxation. Tariff taxes at the frontier 
are as burdensome. The list of dutiable articles is as long as 
the words of their language. Even pies are subject to an im- 
port duty. Four dollars and eighty cents is charged on every 
thirty-six and a half pounds of pie imported into Russian ter- 
ritory ! Is this a blow aimed at the New England pumpkin- 
pie industry ? If so it calls for retaliation. In a note at the 
end of this volume will be found a partial tarifii-table for Rus- 
sia as well as for the other countries I visited. In the same 
note will be given a comparative wage-table. The reader may 
determine from those tables whether or not high tariffs make 
high wages. 

My greatest difficulty in Russia, especially in the south, was 
in purchasing railroad-tickets; and indeed it was often only 
by accident that I even found the railroad -station. In one 
small place the station remained obstinately hidden full half a 
day. There was not a soul in the village with whom I could 
speak. I stopped a man on the street and imitated as best I 
could the sound of a locomotive. *' Toot, toot, toot ; 'psli, 'psh, 
'psh ; ding-dong, ding-dong," I cried, and ran up and down the 



224 A TRAMP TRIP. 

street working my arms like the arms of a driving-wheel. The 
result of this brilliant idea was, a crowd collected ; they began 
to hoot and jeer ; a gendarme came up, and I was walked off 
into durance vile. My passport saved me serious trouble, but 
it was twenty-four hours before I succeeded in getting away. 
The railway-station was three miles and a half from the vil- 
lage. 

It was next to impossible to make the agents understand 
where I wished to go. In Kiev I worried the ticket -agent 
half a day before I succeeded in making him understand that 
I wanted to go to Moscow. I pronounced the name in forty 
different styles, got out ray map, pointed out Kiev, then Mos- 
cow, and pantomimed that I wanted to go there. This seem- 
ingly excellent scheme had its drawbacks; my map was printed 
in German. The official did not know one word of German, 
and I knew nothing of Russian letters. I never even attempted 
to learn the Russian alphabet, with its " Rs " turned backward, 
its "Bs" standing on their heads. In the scramble for letters 
the Italians got nearly all the vowels and the Russians all the 
consonants. This makes it hard for strangers. When finally, 
after a day's work, I got the railroad-agent at Kiev to give 
me a ticket, I was not at all certain he had given me a ticket 
to Moscow. At every junction and change of cars I wondered 
if I were not on the wrong train — on the way to the North- 
pole or Siberia. Not until the tiresome forty-two-hour ride 
ended, and I reached Moscow, did I feel entirely relieved. 

The Wossnossensky Cloister is in the rear of the palace in 
the Kremlin. In the chapel of the cloister is a wonderful 
picture of the mother of God, and a number of red-covered 
coffins containing many royal remains, including those of the 
scheming sister of Peter the Great. In the Wossnossensky 
Cloister priests and nuns officiate together. I saw a pale-faced 
nun in deep black reading the service as if propelled by steam ; 
so fast did she rattle it off it seemed impossible that even a 
Russian could understand her. A priest stood near by. When 
the nun's rapid performance ceased, the priest began rattling 



THE government's SECRET WORKINGS. 225 

away almost as fast as the nun, as if determined to get in as 
much as possible in the short time allowed him. 

Actions most liarmless in other lands may prove very un- 
safe in Russia. Near one of the Kremlin gates I observed 
that all passers-by crossed themselves and bared their heads. 
The fact seemed odd ; I took out my note-book to make a note 
of it. While scribbling away, a bushy-bearded gendarme with 
a savage look and a long sabre stepped up and addressed me 
in his forty-syllabled tongue. I did not understand, whereupon, 
without further ceremony, the man of savage look and bushy 
beard seized my arm and took me to the nearest station. 
There I produced my note-book and passport for the inspec- 
tion of the captain of the police. He examined both closely, 
held a consultation with another uniformed oflicial, then said 
to me in German, 

" You may go this time, but I warn you, young man, not to 
stop again on the streets to write your notes." 

Such leniency and moderation were overwhelming. I left 
the great man's presence with many inward thanks at his for- 
bearance in not sending me to Siberia. 

Not much is heard now of the Government's sending people 
to Siberia ; it does not follow that the Government has ceased 
doing such acts of despotism. The Government, adopting the 
tactics of the Nihilists, works in secret and in the dark. A 
man is seen in his house, in his accustomed haunts to-dav : to- 
morrow he is not seen. The next day and the next, and the 
next he is still missing. People ask each other : 

"What has become of X-- — f 

They ask, but are never answered. A case of this kind 
occurred in Moscow about the time of my arrival in that city. 

X was the book-keeper and trusted agent of one of the 

most prominent houses in the city — a young man of excellent 
education, of family and means. One day an officer appeared 
in the counting-room of the firm and told the young man he 
was desired at the office of the metropole (governor of the 

city). Young X shut up his books, locked the safe, stuck 

10* 



226 A TRAMP TRIP. 

the key in his pocket, and started out with the officer. An 
hour, two hours, three, four passed; he did not return. The 
head of the firm wondered what could detain his agent. Fi- 
nally he supposed X had been kept late at the raetropole's, 

and had gone thence direct home. Thinking, therefore, no 
more of the matter, the merchant closed his offices for the night. 

But the next day the young man still failed to appear. His 
family came to the merchant to make inquiries, and for the 
first time it was known he had been neither at the counting- 
room nor at home. The merchant w^as acquainted with the 
metropole. 

" I will go to him," he said to his young clerk's friends — " I 
will go to him, and all will soon be clear." 

He went, but alas, all was not made clear ; nor will it ever be. 
The metropole received his acquaintance coldly. 

" I know your mission," he said; "I must ask you to seek 
no explanation. Of course you may insist, but" — significantly 
— " but I tell you it will be better if you do not. Your young- 
friend is gone. You will never see him again." 

And the world not only does not see him again, but never 
even hears of him — knows not whether he has suffered a mid- 
night execution, or is still living, toiling in the depths of some 
Siberian mine ! He has disappeared — has been literally blotted 
from the face of the earth. Such incidents arc not noticed in 
the newspapers ; the editor daring to mention it would him- 
self be spirited away. The affair of young X was related 

to me by a Russian in Moscow, who had lived several years in 
England, and who regarded with sadness the darkened condi- 
tion of his native land. 

The morning I w^ent to the commandant's office in the 
Kremlin to obtain a permit to visit the Czar's palace a pour- 
ing rain was falling; the streets were converted into small 
rivers. I wore a rubber coat and a very broad-brimmed hat in 
lieu of an umbrella. When ushered into the mighty official's 
presence, dripping, I was about to say, from every pore, I felt 
my heart quake within me. I realized for the first time how 



THE czar's winter PALACE. 227 

sorry a specimen I was to appear before a servant of his im- 
perial majesty the Czar and Autocrat of all the Russias ! The 
commandant eyed me with looks of mingled indignation and 
scorn, then slowly said, 

"Did you come in a cab ?" 

I surveyed my dripping coat and soaked shoes. There was 
no chance to conceal the truth. I had not come in a cab. I 
so told the commandant. 

He gave me another indignant look, and eyed me from head 
to foot. 

" Did you come also without goloshes ?" 

I had come without goloshes. What then ? Was I to be 
sent to Siberia? No; but the punishment was severe. The 
mighty man pierced me with his eyes again. 

** You come without a cab, and without goloshes, and expect 
a permit to visit his Majesty's palace V^ 

He said no more; more was not necessary. I bowed silently 
and withdrew. Afterwards I came with the cab and the "go- 
loshes," and this time received the permit. It was a bitter pill 
to go back to that haughty man, but the Czar's palace was so 
rare a sight that I put my pride in my pocket and swallowed 
the pill with the best grace I could. The palace was well 
worth the sacrifice of pride I had to make. The Czar's Winter 
Palace in Moscow contains grand audience-chambers, gilded 
saloons, brilliant halls and galleries that make an American, 
accustomed to Republican simplicity, stare. Nor is the palace 
lacking in historical associations. The visitor is shown the 
"Red Staircase" where the barbaric Czar Iwan the Terrible 
used to receive his messengers. Those who brought good 
news were flattered and caressed ; the unfortunate bearers of 
ill tidings were assassinated on the spot by the Czar. The 
same Czar, after the completion of the Cathedral of Saint Ba- 
silius, had the architect's eyes put out so that he never could 
plan another such masterpiece ! Napoleon occupied this pal- 
ace in 1812. A number of relics of his stay are shown ; among 
others, the iron bedstead which he used during the Russian 



228 A TRAMP TRIP. 

campaign. The chair in which the mad Charles XII. was car- 
ried after the battle of Pultowa, in 1709, has a place near Na- 
poleon's bed. Both are interesting relics of the past. The 
horse that Peter the Great rode at the battle of Pultowa, and 
which was staffed and for a time kept at Moscow, is now in 
the museum at St. Petersburg. 

The tower of Iwan Weliky, near the palace of the Kremlin, 
is three hundred feet high ; from its summit a fine view of 
the city is obtained. Madame de Stael,when she stood on this 
tower, broke out with an exclamation of delight, 

'' Voila Kome tatare !'' (There is the Tartar's Rome.) 

Joseph II., in 1V80, and Napoleon and his marshals, in 1812, 
surveyed the Eussian capital from the Iwan Weliky tower. 
Marshal von Moltke wrote : 

" It would never occur to one viewing Moscow from this 
point on a warm sunny day, that he was in the same latitude in 
which, in Siberia, reindeer graze, and in Kamtchatka dogs draw 
sleds on the ice. Moscow makes decidedly the impression of a 
southern city. One can almost imagine one's self transported 
to Bagdad, Ispahan, or some other similar place, where the ro- 
mances of Scheherazade are recalled — places we might have 
dreamed about, but never expected to see." 

At the base of the Iwan Weliky tower is the celebrated bell, 
the largest bell ever cast. It fell many years ago from its posi- 
tion in the tower, and now rests on the ground where it fell, as 
large as a small house. The piece which was broken out in 
the fall measured four or five feet in length. The opening thus 
made serves as a door-way to this odd house. 

The most magnificent church in Russia is that of the " Sav- 
iour." It cost upward of ten million dollars. It is constructed 
of polished marble; all the quarries of Europe were drawn 
upon to furnish their finest and most beautiful specimens. 
The church was erected to commemorate the deliverance of 
Russia from the French in 1812. Another church I went to 
see bore the laconic name of 

*^ BLAGOWJASCHTSCHENSKYKATHEDRALE !" 



KTJSSIANS METHODICAL IN DIET. 229 

Kussian words are so long that those of more than seven sylla- 
bles are counted as two by the telegraph companies. There is 
one thing in which the Russian thinks he is more terse than the 
rest of mankind. He uses no " Mr.," " Mrs.," or " Miss." A 
Russian will say, "Paul Petrowitsch," meaning Paul, Peter's 
son; or "Maria Nikolajewna," meaning Maria, daughter of 
Nicholas. 

During the intense cold of the winter season in Moscow for- 
eigners are surprised when strangers stop them on the streets 
and, without a word, begin to rub their noses with snow. 
When the reason of this seemingly unwarranted action is un- 
derstood the foreigner is very grateful. lie knows that the 
Russian perceived his nose was freezing, or was about to drop 
off, and rubbed it with snow to save it. 

" Pritri, pritri noss samorss " (Rub, rub ; your nose is freez- 
ing), is the cry one often hears on the streets of Moscow in 
winter. 

At what are called " Chartschewna " very good dinners are 
served for twenty or thirty kopecks — ten or fifteen cents. 
Hard-boiled eggs, pickles, salted or smoked fish, and pastry 
filled with mushrooms, rice, and meat, form the ordinary bill 
of fare in these places. Russians arc methodical in their diet. 
Each season has its particular dish, particular kind of fruit, 
soup, etc. Meats and fruits are in favor about the middle of 
August. One thoroughly versed in this feature of Russian 
life needs no calendar : a glance at the bill of fare for dinner 
would disclose to him the exact month and season. 

St. Petersburg is more brilliant than Moscow, but it is not 
as interesting. It is too much like other imperial cities. Its 
streets are wide, the buildings are modern and handsome, fash- 
ionable equipages dash by, the people one meets seem to be- 
long more to the nineteenth century. It has none of that Ori- 
ental appearance which characterizes Moscow. An interesting 
relic shown in St. Petersburo- is the loo*- cabin of Peter the 
Great. The cabin has been incased by a substantial building 
of stone, but otherwise it is in the same condition as when in- 



230 A TRAMP TRIP. 

habited by its royal occupant. The arrangement of the fur- 
niture in his bedroom is the same ; and the skiff which Peter 
made with his own hands, the *' Father" of the Russian fleet, 
is in one end of the room where he left it. 

In a journey of two thousand miles in Russia, the first and 
only tunnel that I saw was at Wilna. All the rest was over 
monotonous, level plains. Near Wilna there is a monument. 
The inscription reads : 

**IN 1812 RUSSIA WAS INUNDATED BY AN ARMY OP 700,000 MEN. 
THIS ARMY RECROSSED THE FRONTIER W^ITH 70,000 MEN." 

Brief but expressive. 

When at Eduytkuhn we crossed the frontier into Germany, I 
drew a sigh of relief at being once more out of despotic Rus- 
sia. My passport,* which had been carefully examined by the 
police before I was given permission to leave the empire, was 
no longer needed. I folded it up, with its vises in Turkish, 
Bulgarian, Russian, and other languages, to keep as a souvenir; 
and after fifty tedious hours in a third-class car, arrived in Ber- 
lin from St. Petersburg. 

* I left home without any passport at all: only with difficulty did I 
get as far as Vienna. Travel east of Vienna without passports is not 
only difficult but impossible, and in Vienna, therefore, I was compelled to 
buy one from the American Minister at a cost of thirteen gold gulden. 



STRIKING FEATURES OF A STRONG GOVERNMENT. 231 



CHAPTER XXIV. 

STRIKING FEATURES OF A STRONG GOVERNMENT. — ^WHY YOU CAN- 
NOT LOSE YOURSELF IN BERLIN. —CHE AP LIVING IN THE GER- 
MAN CAPITAL.— THE TOMB OF FREDERICK. — IN THE REICHSTAG. 
— BISMARCK AND THE EMPEROR. — MUSICAL NOTES. 

Some three years previous to my visit, an acquaintance, a 
medical student, had gone to Berlin. I had his old address; 
immediately on my arrival I hunted him up. A stout musician 
occupied the number my friend had given me. He had been 
there two years, knew nothing of the previous occupant, and 
could only advise me to inquire at the nearest police-station. 
I did so. 

"H'm," said the police-sergeant, "you want to know the ad- 
dress of Blank? Just wait a moment," and going to a shelf 
he took down a large and dusty volume. lie thumbed the 
pages for ten or fifteen minutes. 

"Ah, here you are," he said, looking up. "* Blank, born 
Philadelphia, twenty-six years old, medical student, Protestant 
religion, father merchant in Philadelphia; arrived in Berlin 

September 23, 1882, lodged No. Leipziger Strasse; 

23d September, 1883, removed to No. Koenig Strasse; 

on July 1st removed to Dresden, lodging at No. Kleine- 

packhofgasse.' " 

The oflScial paused. There was no further entry in his book 
regarding Blank. 

" If your friend is not at that number on the Kleinepackhof- 
gasse in Dresden," continued the officer, " the authorities there 
can inform you as to his subsequent movements." 

There was no necessity for further inquiry. I wrote to my 
friend on the Kleinepackhofgasse, and received a reply within 
two days. It is difficult for a stranger to lose himself in Ber- 



232 A TRAMP TRIP. 

lin. If you forget the number of your lodgings, stop tlie first 
policeman you meet. 

" Pardon, mein Ilerr," you say to Lira. " My name is John 
Smith. Will you be land enougli to tell me where I live?" 

The officer telephones to police headquarters, and in five 
minutes hands you your address ; then you go on your way 
admiring or condemning, according to your taste, a system of 
espionage so perfect as to produce this almost incredible result. 

When I called on an acquaintance in Berlin, an old and 
wealthy citizen, one put down in the "Address Book" as a 
" Rentier," that is, one living on his income, I found his house- 
hold in a state of the utmost confusion. The furniture was 
scattered about as if a western cyclone had struck it ; the table- 
ware, silver service, and spoons were heaped upon the big din- 
ing -table. My acquaintance was in the midst of this con- 
fusion, pencil and note-book in hand, his brow covered with 
perspiration, although the season was winter. 

" What on earth does all this mean ?" I asked, after the first 
salutations. "Taking my advice and going to America?" 

" Oh no," cheerily answered Herr V. " Merely changing 
servants." 

"Merely changing servants? Does one have to overturn 
one's house to change servants?" 

" To a certain extent, yes. In Germany the Government is 
paternal ; has its finger in every pie, so to speak. When the 
yearly change of servants is made, it is necessary to take an in- 
ventory of every article in your house. If anything is missing 
it must be found or accounted for, and not until then can you 
sign the servant's papers required by the police. If all is right 
the official blanks are filled, a copy is given to the servant, one 
you keep, and the other is given to the police. This system 
insures honest servants." 

To me it looked as if the main thing insured was an unbear- 
able interference in private affairs. I expressed this opinion to 
Herr V. He seemed surprised at my inability to see the beauty 
of the Government's looking after its subjects' household affairs. 



STANDING ARMIES. 233 

lleiT v., reading from the official "Address Book," edited 
by R. Von Leutsch for the Imperial Government, gave the fol- 
lowing figures regarding European armies : 

Germany's standing army contains 492,614 men ; the reserve 
numbers 1,456,677 men and 35,427 ofiicers. The German fleet 
comprises 95 ships, with 592 cannon and 17,286 men. The 
number of horses used by the army in peace is 242,415. 

Russia in peace has a standing army (including field army 
and men in active service) of 800,000 men ; tbis number is 
swelled in war to, in round numbers, 2,000,000. 

France in war can bring an active army of 2,423,164 men in 
the field. Her full army, that is, including every male capable of 
bearing arms, is 3,753,164. 

Italy is credited with a standing army of 750,765 men. With 
the reserves the number is 2,119,250. 

Monaco has five officers and sixty-three men. 

"While a part of these armies exists only on paper, still, the 
number actually in service, and thus drawn away from the 
number of producers, is enormous. As long as the nations of 
Europe spend their energies marshalling vast hosts, and glaring 
at each other over breastworks of fixed bayonets, the masses 
will inevitably be ground down in the hard mill of poverty — 
miserable hew^ers of wood and drawers of water. 

In Berlin I assumed considerable style. I occupied a front 
room on the third floor of a house on the Friederich Strasse — 
the principal street of the city. The room was carpeted, there 
w^ere white curtains at the window, the furniture was plain and 
neat — altogether a very cosey, snug little room. The prettiest 
sort of a red-cheeked German maid, plump arms, and white cap 
on her blond head, brought me coffee and buttered rolls, and 
wished me a good appetite in the morning. For all this I paid 
one and a half marks per day — thirty-six cents. My dinners 
usually cost a mark — twenty-four cents. There were cheaper 
places, but I was becoming extravagant. I dined usually at a 
restaurant next door to the main post-oflSce. Notwithstanding 
ray fluent command of German, the proprietor guessed at once 



234 A TRAMP TRIP, 

that I was American. He had been to England, and was very 
proud of his knowledge of the language. For a mark, Jack 
(that was his name) furnished an excellently cooked dhmer, 
comprising soup, roast-beef, mutton, vegetables, dessert, fruit, 
and beer or soda-water. I grew quite fat upon this generous 
diet after my tough experiences in Russia and the East. 

Berlin has no boulevard or avenue to compare with the Ring 
Strasse of Vienna ; but leave out the Ring Strasse, and Berlin is 
far the handsomer city. Its most interesting associations are 
those connected with Frederick the Great. At Potsdam the 
palace of Sans-souci (** without care ") is kept in precisely the 
same condition in which its great occupant left it. liis flutes, 
music, cradle, old clothes — all are there. The chair in which 
he died occupies the same place by the window from which the 
great king took his last look at the trees and flowers, and the 
sun and the bright, blue skies. Voltaire's room also remains 
unchanged. Its mural decorations — monkeys, parrots, peacocks, 
etc., which Frederick meant as an allusion to the French phi- 
losopher's monkey -like appearance, his talkativeness and vanity 
— are as fresh in color as if painted yesterday. Voltaire under- 
stood the hint intended by the odd decorations, but he knew 
when he had a good thing. It was not until the king resorted 
to more than mere hints that the great wit stood, not on the 
order of going, but went at once. 

Frederick's tomb is in Potsdam. It was in this damp, gloomy 
chamber that the King of Prussia, in 1813, swore eternal war 
against Napoleon. Recently (August, 1886), on the occasion of 
the hundredth anniversary of Frederick's death, the German 
Kaiser Wilhelm said his prayers in the gloomy tomb at Pots- 
dam, and had the coffin of his great ancestor covered with 
flowers. The Kaiser Wilhelm in the long four and a half 
score years of his life has witnessed remarkable changes. lie 
was a man in soldier's uniform, when, seventy-three years ago, 
Prussia's king, defeated and humiliated, swore over the tomb of 
Frederick to revenge his country's disasters. He lived to be 
crowned emperor in Louis XIV.'s palace at Versailles ; and he 



PROGRESS SLOW BUT SURE. 235 

lives to-day, tlie head of the strongest military power on earth, 
loved by his people nior^j than ever as he rounds out the full 
century of his eventful life. 

It has been said that a sure way to convert a Socialist is to 
let him become the owner of ten dollars. That method is un- 
certain. Ilerr Bebel was a Socialist twenty years ago when a 
poor man ; he is now a wealthy manufacturer, and more of a 
Socialist than ever. He is a member of the Reichstag, and the 
recognized leader of the Socialist and anti-Bismarck party. The 
Parliament House, a plain, ordinary-looking building, is passed 
by many travellers because not " starred " by Baedeker. I found 
it interesting. Bismarck rarely enters until the members have 
taken their seats ; then the Iron Prince stalks down the aisle as 
if he owned the building and all the members in it. If dis- 
approval of his speech is in any way manifested, the chancellor 
storms, declares that he is only a servant of his Majesty, the 
Emperor, that so are all the members of the Reichstag, and any 
one disputing that fact either by word or action, such as ridicul- 
ing his, Bismarck's speeches, is a traitor. 

Day by day the Democrats, or men who do not believe that 
a bill or measure is above criticism because introduced by an 
emperor's chancellor, are getting a little more boldness. Even 
now Bismarck is forced to debate and explain, where a few years 
ago he would haughtily declare the measure was desired by 
their master the Emperor, and that that was sufficient. When 
such changes have occurred in Imperial Germany, lovers of 
Democratic governments and of freedom have cause to be 
hopeful. Progress is slow but sure. 

The anti-tariff party in Germany are called "Progression- 
ists." They are led by Eugene Richter and Professor Virchow, 
two able men who are doing their best to teach the people that 
taxes do not make wealth : seemingly a very comprehensible 
fact, yet the people are slow to grasp it. The Progressionists, 
in a hopeless minority, occupy seats on the left ; back of them 
are the Socialists ; in the centre are the Catholics ; on the right 
are the Liberals and Conservatives, the latter divided in several 



236 A TEAMP TEIP. 

factions. Very few of the parties, except the Progressionists, 
seem to know what they want. They sit like school-boys and 
listen to Prince Bismarck's scolding lectures. At the time of 
my visit one of the members asked for an explanation of the 
Government's action in expelling the Poles from the eastern 
provinces. Bismarck replied in effect that it was none of their 
business. Those were not his words, but the meaning and effect 
were the same. The audacious member who thought an em- 
peror should explain why he banished a whole people from a 
province sat down a sadder but not a wiser man. 

In the production of light operatic music Vienna excels Ber- 
lin; Berlin, however, leads in the production of heavy or classi- 
cal music. In Vienna a crowd of composers flood the market 
with waltz and light operatic music. Zell and Genee have formed 
a literary firm for the production of opera librettos. They turn 
out librettos to order on any subject, and on the shortest no- 
tice. Milloecker, the composer of " The Beggar Student," fre- 
quently obtains his librettos from Zell, Genee & Co. Strauss 
bought his *' Merry War" libretto from them. Karl Milloecker 
was formerly second flutist in a second-rate orchestra. He has 
not as much originality as Strauss, yet his operas enjoy greater 
popularity. This is due to his superior conception of comedy. 
Everything Strauss handles seems to have something of a waltz 
flavor. He is the greatest writer of waltzes that ever lived, and 
it is because his talent runs so exclusively in that line that his 
success as an opera composer is limited. 

The Berlin musical conservatories bear a high reputation. 
To their excellence several noted violinists owe much of their 
success. Miss Madge Wickham, an American girl, after gradu- 
ating with honor from the principal conservatory, gave a num- 
ber of concerts in Berlin and in the provinces. Everywhere she 
won the favor both of critics and people. Miss Maud Powell, 
of Chicago, is another violinist who has been well received by 
Berlin audiences. 

Cologne, though a provincial city, is able to boast of one of 
the best musical conservatories in Germany, which is to say, in 



237 

Europe. Doctor Wuellner, formerly of Dresden, is now at the 
head of the Cologne Conservatory. As an instructor in theory 
and the art of conducting, he has no superior. He receives a 
salary of twenty-five thousand marks ($6000), a large salary for 
Germany. 

The head of the Paris Conservatory of Music is Ambrose 
Thomas, the composer of " Mignon." The French Government 
grants every year a certain number of musical scholarships. 
The winner of one of these scholarships receives free tuition, 
first in the Paris Conservatory, and afterwards in the Italian 
school at Milan. The latter does not now enjoy the reputation 
it once did. Neither the Milan school nor any other Italian 
school of music will compare with the German conservatories. 
But the French Government could not stomach the idea of send- 
ing scholars to her ancient enemy across the Rhine. Moreover, 
since 1870, anything French is looked down upon in Germany. 
Few French operas succeed nowadays on German boards. Au- 
dran's " Grand Mogul " and " Gillette " may be mentioned as 
two exceptions. Those light and breezy productions, after a 
long run in Paris, met with almost equal success in Berlin. 

Audran used to live on dry bread in a garret. His " Mas- 
cotte" had a seven hundred nights' run in Paris, and the lucky 
composer now has a pocket by no means empty. It is said 
Audran purposes abandoning the field of light opera, and will 
enter more lofty and classical regions. It is scarcely probable, 
however, that the mind which produced the "Mascotte" will 
ever be able to compose anything in the highly classical and 
heavy style of Richard Wagner. 



238 A TRAMP TRIPc 



CHAPTEB XXV. 

AMSTEEDAM.— A LONG SERMON. —HONORS TO AN ACTRESS.— STORY 

OF A Dutchman's nose. 

When I landed in Amsterdam one Sunday morning, I saw 
hundreds of men and boys flying kites. The city contains a 
net-work of canals. Some of the graybeards were so absorbed 
with their kite-flying, their eyes were so constantly looking 
heavenward, I feared they would tumble backward into the ca- 
nals. "With practice, however, had come skill, and as near as 
some of them backed to the water's edge, none fell in. 

I intended to stay but one day in Amsterdam. An untoward 
incident caused me to stay two days. I had gazed half an hour 
at the old men flying kites, and was proceeding to the celebrated 
Zoological Gardens, when I passed the open door of a church, 
and conceived the unhappy thought of entering. 

"I will merely see what a Dutch church is like," I said to 
myself, "then I will go on to the Gardens." 

I entered, spent five minutes gazing at the dim windows, at 
the few ancient and faded paintings, then turned to go. Alas ! 
it was impossible. The doors were locked. I was forced to 
listen to the very end of that Dutch sermon — the longest ser- 
mon, I am sure, that any one, Dutch or English, ever preached. 
When finally the services ended and the doors opened, it was 
too late to go to the Gardens, so I stayed over another day. 

In Holland matches are almost as large around as lead-pen- 
cils. Match-safes are large in proportion. Cigars are twice as 
thick as American cigars. The Dutch wooden shoe is a small 
boat. They seem to seek, not grace or beauty, but solidity — 
extreme solidity. They attain clumsiness. 

Keturning Monday morning from the Zoological Gardens, I 



A CALL OX MY FORMER FELLOW-TRAMP. 239 

found tlie streets jammed and packed with an immense crowd. 
Every window was filled with faces, every lamp-post was adorned 
with two or more urchins. The occasion was evidently some- 
thing unusual. Many houses were draped in mourning. When 
at length a funeral cortege approached, preceded by a band 
playing solemn dirges, and followed by the military and a vast 
concourse of citizens, I concluded the King or some other high 
dignitary was dead. I was mistaken. The deceased to whom 
these honors were being paid was an actress. She had amused 
the Amsterdam populace for fifty years ; the populace w^as now 
showing its respect for her services and her genius. In Amer- 
ica five hundred years' successful service would not gain an act- 
or or actress such public honors or recognition. 

My train did not leave until midnight. I took advantage of 
the opportunity to call on the Dutch musician, my former fel- 
low-tramp, w^hose address I found in my note-book. He was 
sitting in an old arm-chair, the lamp turned down, the room 
lighted by the cheerful glow of a bright coal fire. 

" Ah ! welcome, old fellow 1" he exclaimed. ^' Off with your 
overcoat and draw up to the fire." 

I had often pictured to myself the snug, cosey quarters of 
the German student - class, but never had my wildest fancy 
painted a room full of pulleys, ropes, Indian clubs, bean-bags, 
and similar odd machines. After the first salutations I spent 
fully ten minutes gazing at the various contrivances around 
me. 

** What on earth does it all mean ?" I asked. 

" Not so fast !" replied the Wagnerian musician. " We have 
not come to that yet. I will explain presently.'' 

Turning up the light, he pushed a little table between us. 

" First supper, then my story," he began, taking up a dish 
of oatmeal and a pot of boiled prunes. " This, with a glass of 
hot water, will constitute our supper." 

"Prunes and hot water! Excuse me, but I have just dined." 

"Ah! then I shall have to sup alone;" and drinking a glass 
of hot water, he began to slowly eat the oatmeal and prunes. 



240 A TEAMP TRIP. 

When he had finished he pushed aside the plates, removed 
the table, and faced me with the question, 

"Do you see anything peculiar about my nose?" 

I began to doubt my friend's sanity. There he sat, his tall 
figure reclining in his easy-chair, an intelligent, handsome head, 
asking me if I saw anything peculiar about his nose ! Was ho 
crazy ? I assured him I observed nothing extraordinary about 
his nasal organ, except that it was an unusually white and fine- 
ly chiselled specimen ; whereupon he continued, with a grave 
look, 

" Six months ago, after parting from you at Munich, I re- 
turned to Amsterdam, and shortly afterwards fitted up my 
gymnasium, got my books of hygiene, gave up beer, and be- 
gan living on a frugal diet of oatmeal and fruits. From your 
remark, and from my own observation, I perceive that I have 
been successful. 

" On the return trip from Munich I stopped at Ruedesheim, 
on the Rhine, to transact some business with an old friend of 
my father's. Herr Siefert's home was at a country place sev- 
eral miles from the town, and I rode thither on horseback. 
AVhen within a short distance of my destination I overtook a 
young lady, also on horseback, and travelling in the same di- 
rection as myself. Observing her graceful figure and erect 
carriage, I mustered courage, spurred my horse, and overtaking 
the fair stranger, raised my hat and bowed. 

*^ * Can you direct me to Herr Siefert's V I asked. 

" ^ Certainly '—a beautiful blush suffusing her cheeks. 'You 
have but to keep this straight road. But may I not ask if this 
is Herr Mies V 

" ' At your service ; and you are — ' 

" ' Marie Siefert. Papa has been expecting you for a day or 
two. I guessed who you were the moment you asked after 
him.' 

"We then rode on together, I feeling as if I w^ere floating 
in the air, every moment more and more bewitched by my 
beautiful companion. With clear-cut, regular features, rosy 



SOMEWHAT DUMFOFKDED. 241 

cheeks, sparkling brown eyes, a wealth of nut-brown hair blown 
loosely by the wind, and a figure as trim and symmetrical as a 
sylph's, I thought her the handsomest woman I had ever seen. 
My admiration w^as but ill concealed, and she wore an nmused 
smile as we cantered along. 

"It was near sundown when ^ve reached 'Der Ruh,' Hen 
Siefert's place. My fair guide, excusing herself, retired, leaving 
me in charge of her brother, who showed me to my room. 
There, left to myself half an hour before supper, I sat down to 
reflect. You will think it absurd, but the matter had actually 
gone that far — I was plotting and planning how to find an ex- 
cuse for prolonging my stay. Love at first sight ? Perhaps it 
was, I will not say ; but if you had seen her! there never was 
a lovelier girl. I dreaded the time when my visit would come 
to an end. The ringing of a bell suddenly interrupted my re- 
flections. A few moments later August Siefert knocked at my 
door, and we walked in together to the dining-room. The fam- 
ily were around the table. Upon my entrance they arose. 

" * Herr Mies, I believe,' said Frau Siefert, a motherly old 
lady; 'your mother and I were old friends. This is my 
daughter.' 

" * I believe I have had the pleasure — ' I said, as I turned 
and beheld ray fair guide. 

" ' What ?' she said, opening wide her beautiful eyes. * Why, 
I never saw you before in all my life !' 

** I was amazed, dumfounded. 

"* Surely,' I stammered — 'surely, Fraulein, why — er — ' I 
could go no further. 

" * You have been dreaming !' said the young lady, with a 
silvery laugh. * But come, if we take so much of your time 
in introductions, you will lose your supper.' 

"During the whole meal my thoughts were bent in a vain 
endeavor to solve Fraulein Siefert's incomprehensible conduct. 
The rest of the family had not seemed to notice it. After sup- 
per I went into Ilerr Siefert's study to talk over business mat- 
ters. It was late before we said good-night and retired. When 
11 



242 A TEAMP TKIP. 

I entered the breakfast-room the next morning Fraulein Siefert 
greeted me pleasantly. After breakfast she left the room, re- 
turning in a few minutes, however, dressed in her riding-habit. 

" * Good-morning, Ilerr Mies,' she said, seeming to have for- 
gotten that she had already spoken at the table. 'Have you 
thoroughly recovered from the fatigue of yesterday's ride?' 

" * Yes, Fraulein ; but I have not recovered from the surprise 
your reception at the supper-table gave me.' 

"*At the supper-table? and her great brown eyes opened 
wide, precisely as they had done when I was introduced to her 
in the dining-room. * Why, I have not seen you since I came 
in from my ride.' 

*' * What !' I exclaimed, * you did not see me ? Truly, this is 
extraordinary ! W^hen I met you last night you did not re- 
member riding with me ; now you remember the ride, but for- 
get that you saw me last night. Explain — what does it mean V 

*'* Simply — that you are mistaken. On returning from my 
ride yesterday I Avent up-stairs to stay with my little brother, 
who was fretting. I did not come down to supper at all. But 
auf wiedersehen, I am going away to spend a few days at un- 
cle's,' upon which she smiled and flitted out of the room. 

" Was I dreaming? I began to think there was some mental 
affliction, and abandoned any efforts at solving the mystery. 
At the dinner-table, when we w^ere all seated, in walked my 
beautiful riddle. 

"*IIow have you passed the morning?' she inquired, with a 
friendly smile. 

" ' Quite w'ell ; and I am glad to find you back so soon.' 

" * Back ! I have not been away.' 

'' ' Ah — so you changed your mind ?' 

** * Indeed, no. Did you imagine I was going away V 

'' I could make no coherent reply. 

"*0h no,' I stammered, * not at all — that is — yes — I — er — 
thought — thought you might go away,' 

" Frau Siefert here kindly came to my relief and changed the 
subject. After that day things went on more smoothly. Frau- 



A MYSTERY MADE CLEAR. 243 

lein Siefcrt evinced no more of the puzzling eccentricities which 
at first had so astonished me. We walked, rode, and read to- 
gether. The day before I was to leave I asked Herr Siefert for 
the hand of his daughter. He consented, but she — she refused. 
My disappointment was stunning. I mounted ray horse and 
galloped down the road. The fresh air seemed to quiet my 
nerves ; when at last I turned my horse homeward I felt calmer. 
Eeturning, I saw Fraulein Siefert approaching on her gray 
pony. I determined to suppress my feelings, and speak with 
only the most studied formality. 

" * Why, how do you do, Herr Mies V she said, as I came up ; 

* I am glad to see you again.' 

This greeting was so strange, so unexpected, I was speechless. 
A moment more my surprise gave way to amazement as a liv- 
ing second of my angel rode up and greeted me with a slight 
bow. 

" ' Twins !' I ejaculated. 

" * Did you not know it before V said she whom I had first 
met, with a merry laugh. * I am Marie, and this is my sister 
Annie, whom you have seen all the week.' 

" The mystery was now clear, and as we rode on together I 
almost forgot my repulse in recalling the amusing contretemps 
of the first few days of my visit. 

" That night I could not sleep. I deserted my room for the 
grape arbor, which had been a favorite retreat during my visit. 
As I sat there in the still night air, thinking over my hopeless 
love, the sound of voices was wafted to my ears. Whose 
voices were they ? I recognized one as that of my darling's. 

" ^ Oh, why did you refuse him V I heard one of them say. 

* He is handsome, and father says he is clever.' 

" What was this? My heart almost stood still as I listened 
to catch her answer. She seemed to whisper it. 

" ' I liked him — I admired him. But, oh, sister, how could I 
marry a man with such a red nose ?' 

" * Great Heaven,' I groaned, * and is this the cause V 

** I rushed to my room, lighted a candle before the glass, and 



244 A TKAMP TEIP. 

gazed long and intensely at the reflection of my unfortunate 
nose. 

" Yes ; she was right. It was a red nose, and I was a fool to 
imagine a beautiful creature like she could love a red-nosed 
man. 

" * But she shall marry me yet,' I said, gritting my teeth, 
^ she shall marry me, and this accursed nose shall bleach as the 
driven snow.' 

" I looked back a few years at the time when my nose was 
white. Why had it become red ? It was unnatural. I deter- 
mined to find the cause, and remedy it if in human power. 
Within a week I was at the celebrated hygienic home of Dr. 
Therbideaux, in Paris, where I began my nose-bleaching under 
the doctor's instructions, drinking gallons of hot water, bathing 
several times a day, living on prunes and fruit, and parboiling 
my feet in order to bring the redness down from my nose. 

" ' Curses on my feet ! I did not care if ihey turned red ; she 
wouldn't see ihem^ 

" In a few weeks a perceptible improvement had taken place. 
The redness in my nose abated, while the redness in my feet 
increased. When I returned to Amsterdam it was with a load 
of Dr. Therbideaux's books, and my mind stored with his valu- 
able advice and instruction. Since then I have rigidly followed 
his prescribed course, and in addition have here in my room a 
gymnasium for exercise, to equalize the system and prevent the 
blood settling in the nose." 

The musician paused. A painful suspicion darted upon my 
mind. I seized a hand-glass and critically examined my own 
nose. Had the color of that feature anything to do with my 
Mary Ann's rejection of me ? Were all girls so decidedly op- 
posed to red noses? Casting a furtive glance at Mies, I now 
perceived his nose was as white as the fairest woman's. 

"And this angel — this Venus?" I said. "Where is she? 
What if she be won while you are preparing for the con- 
quest ?" 

" Ah, I shall risk that. I have thought for some time my 



LUCK DESERVED. 245 

nose was white enough. You strengthen me in my belief, and 
I shall soon put the matter to the test." 

Three weeks from that night I received news of my friend's 
" Verlobung " (engagement). 

"He deserves his luclc," I thought; "any man who will live 
on prunes and hot water to win a girl is a trump of the first 
order." 



246 A TRAMP TRIP. 



CHAPTER XXVI. 

PEASANT LIFE IN BELGIUM. — CURIOUS IDOL IN BRUSSELS. — ITALY 
REVISITED. — THE POTENTIALITY OF A FLANNEL SHIRT. — - OLD 
FRIENDS AND BEGGARS IN NAPLES. — FLOUNDERING IN FRENCH. 
— WHY PARIS IS MAGNIFICENT. — THE THIRD NAPOLEON. — PAT- 
RONIZING PARIS THEATRES TO AVOID BUYING FUEL. — A FUSSY 
ENGLISHMAN. 

The Belgian laborer is as industrious, perhaps, as the laborer 
of any other country in the world; two circumstances, however, 
operate to lessen the results which his energy and labor should 
produce. First, the extreme density of population and con- 
sequent great amount of competition ; secondly, his habits of 
intemperance. 

Beer among the Germans, and light wines among the French 
and Italians, are consumed almost to the exclusion of other 
beverages; but in Belgium the working-man drinks not only 
an unwholesome and inferior quality of wine and beer, but, 
to a considerable extent, rum and gin also. Rum and gin 
drinking are on the increase. Many workmen lose Mondays 
through their Saturday night and Sunday dissipations. 

In the matter of habitations the standard in Belgium is better 
than that in Italy. A moderately thrifty workman will rent a 
tenement -house of from two to four rooms, paying therefor 
from three to six dollars a month. In rural districts houses are 
generally provided with a small plot of ground for gardening. 
In the large cities this is wanting. The houses in Antwerp and 
Brussels are built solidly together. The hall-ways opening into 
the houses are generally dark and narrow, and the stairs leading 
to the upper stories exceedingly crooked and steep. Often a rope 
is provided to hold to when going up the steps, it being impos- 
sible, or at least dangerous, to ascend otherwise. 



PEASANT LIFE. 247 

The system of "Bauerdoerfer" — peasant villages — so univers- 
al in Germany and some other European States, does not prevail 
in Belgium. The peasant's house is usually detached, is one 
story high, and thatched. In addition to gardening, the peasant 
generally raises a little poultry, a pig or two, and cows, all 
these animals being housed either in one of the rooms of the 
peasant's house, or in small sheds adjoining. The women treat 
animals under their charge with the greatest care. In cold or- 
rainy weather they are particular to put a rough blanket on the 
cows ; they give them warm food, and in many ways care for 
small details which in other countries are neglected. 

In some of the large glass manufacturing establishments ex- 
pert glass-blowers earn as high as three dollars a day. Such 
men must have powerful lungs to blow large vessels. This 
class frequently own their own homes, or, if not, rent comfort- 
able houses, paying ten to fifteen dollars a month rent. The 
number, however, who receive the above-mentioned wages bear 
a small proportion to the -whole. Skilled paper-makers, iron- 
workers, woollen-weavers, and similarly engaged workmen will 
not average more than fifty to sixty-five cents a day. 

Some of the large manufacturers are taking steps tov»^ardsthe 
betterment of the condition of their operatives, such as founding 
or encouraging social clubs, reading-rooms, furnishing plain, 
wholesome dinners at cost price, etc. At Seraing the employes 
of the "Cockerill Works" enjoy many comforts and conven- 
iences not enjoyed by employes of other places. The hospital 
erected by the works is maintained at a cost of $10,000 a year. 
There are savings-banks, sick funds, good elementary schools, 
and public kitchens and dining-rooms for those who desire to 
use them. At Seraing the works comprise every branch of in- 
dustry connected with the manufacture of iron, as coal-mines, 
iron-stone mines, puddling furnaces, cast-steel works, engine- 
factories, etc. AYomen engage in work quite as arduous as 
men, but their pay is invariably ten to thirty per cent. less. 
The following table will show the in^come, condition, and cost 
of living of a collier's family. 



248 A TRAMP TKIP. 

Coal Collier at Liege, ^ 

Condition. — Family of six: parents, daughter aged fifteen, boy aged 
eleven; two girls, aged nine and eight. The father is a coal collier; 
mother shovels coal ; girl of fifteen carries coal on her back ; the two 
children sweep manure off the streets. Occupy small house with three 
rooms — dingy, dirty locality, no effort at ornamentation. Family illiterate. 
Father gets drunk. A poor quality of beer is the ordinary drink, but a 
considerable amount of gin is also consumed. The mother is coarsened 
by hard toil, the daughter becoming so ; while the two manure-sweepers, 
living in the slums, rapidly lose whatever refinement of nature they may 
once have possessed. Father works twelve hours a day — six hours on and 
six hours off. 

Diet. — Breakfast : rye bread and coffee, and occasionally a little cheese. 
Dinner : soup, beans, bread ; sometimes varied by potatoes or rice, cabbage, 
etc., beer. About once a week bacon or salt pork. Supper: rye bread, 
coffee or beer. 

Cost of Living : Per Year. 

Rent $24 00 

Bread 87 60 

Meats 18 25 

Coffee, milk, etc 43 80 

Beer and spirituous liquors 43 80 

Groceries 76 65 

Clothing and shoes 62 00 

Fuel and light 15 50 

Total $371 60 

Per Year. 

Earnings of father $156 00 

Earnings of mother 87 00 

Earnings of daughter 58 00 

Earnings of two children 72 50 

Total yearly earnings of five persons $373 50 

Expenditures 371 60 

Surplus $1 90 

There is a very curious fountain in Brussels called the " Man- 
ikin," whicli is regarded by the inhabitants somewhat as the 
Ethiopian regards his idol in the African jungle. When eccen- 
tric people die they leave legacies to the Manikin. An old 

* From my report to U. S. Bureau Labor Statistics, p. 426. 



THE MANIKIN^ FOUNTAIN. 249 

lady not long ago bequeathed him one thousand florins with 
which to buy clothing. The city authorities pay a man two 
hundred francs a year to act as his valet. This valet has in his 
charge a great number of costumes, all of which are worn by 
the Manikin at one time or another on festive occasions. 
During the many vicissitudes of the city, the Manikin has 
always been carefully, if not idolatrously, handled. In 1747, 
when Louis XV. captured the city, his soldiers dressed the 
Manikin in the white cockade. In 1789 he was dressed in 
the Brabant revolution colors, afterwards the French dressed 
him in their colors; and finally, in 1830, during the Belgian 
revolution against the Dutch, the little fellow was dressed by 
the revolutionists in a workman's cap and blouse ! 

"The celebrated Manikin Fountain," says the guide-book, 
" is two hundred yards south-west of the Hotel do Ville." 

I noted the Hotel de Ville one morning, and set out on a 
journey of exploration. I went what seemed about two hun- 
dred yards, then looked around for the fountain and the Man- 
ikin. I explored all the nooks and corners of the neighbor- 
hood, my expectation on the qui vive. Seeing nothing curious 
or strange, I began to fear I had taken the wrong direction. 

*' Pardon, monsieur," I said, stopping a passer-by and pulling 
out my conversation-book in four languages. " Can you direct 
me to the Manikin ?" 

The passer-by shrugged his shoulders and looked surprised. 
" That is the Manikin." 

I looked and saw a small, shabby affair that I had passed a 
dozen times. The famous Brussels Manikin is merely a bronze 
figure eighteen or twenty inches high. The only thing curious 
about it is its curious history. It is a mystery how so com- 
monplace a bit of bronze has managed to play a part in the 
history of a great city. 

I went up the Rhine in winter. It was misty and cold. 
There were few passengers. Those few, as they stood huddled 
in the prow of the boat trying to gaze through the mist at the 
hills and castles, looked thoroughly niiserable. 

ir* 



250 A TRAMP TRIP. 

" AVhat geese people can make of themselves," I said. 
*' These poor tourists actually fancy they are having a nice 
time." 

I did not include myself in this number, for T was not mak- 
ing the trip to see the Ehine. Having so recently seen the 
Kazan Defile and the stupendous scenery of the lower Danube, 
I was not particularly anxious to see the lesser beauties of the 
Rhine. I was merely making a leisurely return trip to sunny 
Italy. 

On the way I stopped at several places that I had before 
visited as a tramp ; and I had opportunity to estimate the 
potentiality of a flannel shirt and shabby appearance. When 
I entered my old hotel in Milan dressed in a brand-new suit of 
tailor-made clothes, the landlord did not recognize me. 

" What is the price of your cheapest room ?" 

"Due lire cinquante" (half a dollar). 

" Are you sure you have none cheaper ?" 

" Si, si, signore, that is very cheap. I have none cheaper." 

" Strange," I said. " I stopped here not a year ago, and I 
paid but half a lira — ten cents." 

The padrone stared in amazement. Not until I showed him 
my name on his register did he realize that I spoke the truth. 
He then saw that my being better dressed did not mean that I 
was to be cheated. I got my old room at the old price. 

From Naples I again made the ascent of Mount Vesuvius, 
this time by carriage to the cone, and up the cone by the wire 
railway. In Resina a crowd of beggars gathered and formed a 
picturesque but dirty escort half w^ay to the cone. One of 
them, a ragged, curly - headed, jolly -looking Neapolitan, kept 
along-side the carriage on its slow ascent, and begged for a few 
soldi '^to buy a dish of macaroni." It was impossible to dis- 
courage him. To all my rebuffs he smiled, showed his fine 
teeth, and said " he knew the signore would give him a plate 
of macaroni." I admired his good-natured impudence, and at 
length gave a few soldi to get rid of him. After about two 
miles on the way, seeing nothing more was to be made, the 



FLOUNDERING IN FRENCH. 251 

cavalcade of beggars, flower-girls, organ-grinders, and guides 
dispersed, and we were left to finish the journey alone. At 
the upper station I saw the man with whom I had spent a 
night a year before. lie seemed as glad to see me as though 
he had never tried to swindle me. He congratulated me on 
my "fine clothes," and the money which (in his opinion) my 
improved wardrobe indicated I had fallen heir to. 

After a month's pleasant sojourn amid scenes that were part- 
ly new, partly familiar, I set out towards Paris. My tongue 
refused to master the French pronunciation. At Modane, on 
the French side of the Mont Cenis Tunnel, I found Italian of 
as little avail as though Italy w^ere in another hemisphere in- 
stead of only a few miles away. I v,^anted a ticket for " Ma- 
con." I pronounced it " Makon " in a sensible English way. 
The ticket-agent stared at me. I tried other pronunciations : 

" Mason — Masone — Mahson," etc. 

At each pronunciation the agent looked more puzzled than 
before. But suddenly an inspiration seemed to seize him. 

" Ah — je comprens — Mahcong — Minuit." 

" Oh, very well," I said, " if that is the way you pronounce 
* M-a-c-o-n,' give me a ticket for Minuit." 

The Frenchman glared at me, ran his hand through his hair, 
and slammed his little window down with such violence as al- 
most shattered the glass. 

I was in despair. I approached every official I saw with, 

" Monsieur, je desire un billet pour Minuit." 

They all stared and shrugged their shoulders. Fortunately, 
I at length came across a man who spoke a little English. 
Then I learned why the officers shrugged their shoulders when 
I asked for a ticket to " Minuit." " Minuit " is no station at 
all ; it is the French for " midnight." What the agent tried 
to convey to me was, that no train started for Macon until 
"minuit" (midnight). 

In Paris it is possible to live very cheaply. There is a res- 
taurant in Cardinal Richelieu's old palace, where an excellent 
dinner with wine costs only thirty-five cents. It was my cus- 



252 A TKAMP TRIP. 

torn to dine in tbe cardinal's palace on Sundays. On week- 
days I frequented cheaper and less aristocratic quarters. Con- 
nected with one of the largest bazaars in Paris is a restaurant, 
where three thousand people daily dine at a cost not exceeding 
fifteen cents each. When I first went to this place I took a seat 
at a table, as one usually does in restaurants, and called for a 
w^aiter. None came, for there were none in tbe establishment. 
Tbe workmen sitting by laughed. Tbey made me understand 
by signs that each guest helped himself. I went to the coun- 
ter, wbere I was given a piece of bread for one cent, a plate of 
soup for three cents, meat and potatoes four cents, a dessert of 
prunes two cents — ten cents for the entire dinner. 

The most expensive item in Paris is fuel. I bad a cosey 
little room on the Rue de la Ilarpe (Bayard Taylor stopped on 
the same street forty years ago), for which I paid fifteen cents a 
night. In this room w^as the tiniest sort of a stove. At most 
it could not consume more than a dozen sticks of wood a day ; 
but wood is sold by the pound — five cents for a small stick. 
On cold winter nigbts I found it more economical to go to the 
tbeatre than to remain in my room. I saw Sara Bernhardt in 
Sardou's *^ Theodora " for half a franc — ten cents. Had I re- 
mained in my room, it would have required at least twenty 
cents' worth of wood to have kept me from freezing. 

In the theatre I was followed by a woman in a white cap 
and apron, who demanded "pourboire" (drink-money.) She 
performs no service other than to smile upon you as you enter 
tbe theatre door. This smile she considers worth one cent. 
She was indignant at me for differing with her, and letting her 
stand, hand out-stretched, before my seat without giving the 
customary sou. 

The curtains of most French theatres are covered with huge 
advertising placards. They claim the cards are not only more 
interesting than landscape paintings, but, what to them is more 
to the point, they are more profitable. Advertisers pay liberal- 
ly for space on the curtains of the large theatres. 

When I called on a lady friend in Paris I found her in a 



LUDICROUS SCENE IN THE PARIS BOURSE. 253 

state of excitement. She had just rented a flat and paid the 
rent. A few hours thereafter a brass-buttoned official with a 
cocked hat entered her flat and began counting the doors and 
windows. Her astonishment was great. Next day licr disgust 
was greater. Another official appeared, and she had to pay 
one hundred francs tax on the doors and windows ! The fewer 
doors and windows in one's house in Paris the less are one's 
taxes. This seems to be putting a premium on darkness and 
poor ventilation. 

One day in the Paris Bourse I occasioned something of a 
scene. I wore ray broad-brimmed sombrero ; in my pocket I 
had a bag of bread and prunes. I took a position in the gal- 
lery overlooking the mob of maniacs, and began eating my 
bread and prunes. For some moments the roaring and wild 
shouting continued, deafening as the noise of cannon ; then of 
a sudden there was a hush. I looked down — they had caught 
sight of me ; my unconventional appearance and proceeding 
struck them. The members of the Bourse pointed their fingers 
at me, threw up their hats, shouted, waved their arms frantical- 
ly — it was a Pandemonium. I saw they wished to frighten 
me, and determined to maintain my post until the last prune 
was eaten. A gendarme put a stop to my heroic design. He 
interrupted me in the midst of a graceful bow that I was making 
to the hooting and jeering speculators, and conducted me out 
of the building. 

The magnificence of Paris is not due to the beauty or gran- 
deur of individual edifices ; it is the tout ensemble that is im- 
posing. "When the third Napoleon said to Baron Hausmann, 
"Baron, a boulevard would look well here, let one be made," 
Baron Hausmann hastened to obey. After the old buildings 
had been demolished and the ground cleared for the erection of 
the new ones, the order would go forth imposing a heavy tax 
on the builder of a house inferior to a certain standard of 
height and magnificence. Handsome private buildings secured, 
Napoleon w^ould then order a public edifice to be erected at 
each end of the boulevard, and perhaps a column or fountain 



254 A TRAMP TRIP. 

in the middle. These boulevards, with arrays of imposing pri- 
vate buildings on each side, at the ends magnificent temples or 
arches, in the middle fountains or Egyptian obelisks, render 
Paris the grandest city in the world. 

In the Salle Cheminies, in the Louvre, is a painting which 
goes far to explain the love the French soldiers bore the first 
Napoleon. The scene is laid in Jaffa. Ilis officers stand back, 
timid, hesitating, muffling their faces to avoid the deadly con- 
tagion ; but the Little Corporal, pale, beautiful, fearless, touch- 
es his men, speaks to them, soothes the brows of the dying. 
The painting is one of great excellence. You forget that it is 
a mere picture. For the moment you see the soldiers, hear 
their dying groans, their cries of " Vive Napoleon I" In Ver- 
sailles there are acres of paintings celebrating the exploits of 
the great emperor, but none tell such a tale as this " In the 
Pest-house at Jaffa." 

When the Germans occupied the Versailles palace they care- 
fully covered the Napoleon paintings, and after the siege left 
them in as good condition as they had found them. Should 
the French ever gain possession of the Ehine, I doubt whether 
they would show similar moderation towards the "Germania" 
monument. That lofty memorial of French defeat and humil- 
iation would not long survive in French hands. 

When I took a seat in a second-class compartment in the 
Paris station there sat opposite me a fussy Englishman. A 
friend, who had come to see him off, inquired if he had a nice 
seat. " Oh," replied the Englishman, " I have a space with my 
back to the horses." (He was riding backward.) This fussy 
individual assured me that the Channel was always ** nahsty." 
" You will find it the nahstiest bit of water you ever saw." I 
had seen some rough weather on the Pacific ; I had been on 
the Black Sea during an equinoctial storm ; but by the time 
we landed at Folkestone I quite agreed with the Englishman 
that the Channel " was the nahstiest bit of v/ater" I had ever 
seen. 



COTTOX-MILLS IN YORKSHIRE. 255 



CHAPTER XXVII. 

FACTORY LIFE IN ENGLAND. — THE SPINNERS AND WEAVERS OF HAL- 
IFAX. — TABLE OF WAGES AND PRICES. — TIMIDITY OF LONDONERS. 
— FRIGHTENED BY TIN CANS AND OVERCOATS. — VEGETARIAN 
RESTAURANTS. — HOW TO LIVE ON FOUR CENTS A DAY. — AT THE 
GRAVE OF GOLDSMITH. — WRETCHED CONDITION OF LONDON DOCK- 
YARD LABORERS. 

On landing at Folkestone I proceeded at once to Halifax, and 
delivered the letter of introduction I was fortunate enough to 
possess addressed to Dr. F. II. Bowman, a Fellow of the Royal 
Society, and a scientist of some repute, as well as chief owner 
of the largest cotton-mills in Yorkshire. In his great works 
fifty to sixty thousand pounds of cotton -yarn are spun per 
week, or about five hundred miles of yarn per minute ! The 
three huge engines which supply the power are fed by mechan- 
ical stokers, and consume five thousand tons of coal a year. 

" I wdll be happy to have you investigate the condition of 
our operatives," said Dr. Bowman, " and there will be no better 
way than to make you acquainted with some of the men. You 
can mix with them, be invited to their houses, see their families, 
their homes, and observe their general mode of living," saying 
which he touched a bell, and bade an attendant bring one of 
the spinners to the office. We continued chatting pleasantly 
for about five minutes, when the attendant returned, accompa- 
nied by a young man apparently not above thirty years of age. 

" Ah, Mr. Sunderland !" said Dr. Bowman. " Mr. Sunderland, 
this is Mr. Meriwether, from America. lie wishes to mix with 
the men — wishes to see how they live. Can't you help him?" 

The intelligent-looking workman smiled good-naturedly. 

" ril do what I can, sir," he said, and so, under his wing, I 
set about my task. 



256 A TRAMP TEIP. 

" The rule," said Mr. Sunderland, "is to pay according to the 
amount of work done. Every Saturday we knock off at one 
o'clock, so tliat a week's work consists of only 56^ hours. In 
that time a fairly good spinner or * mule-minder ' will earn on 
an average $7.20. A young woman will earn from $2.40 to 
$3.60. A young man of the same age (14 to 17 years), $2.88 
to $3.60. Children under ten are forbidden by Act of Parlia- 
ment to work in factories ; and between ten and fourteen years 
of age they may work not more than one half the day, going 
to school the other half. For a week of 28^ hours a child earns 
anywhere from 42 to 84 cents. An ' overlooker,' one who 
understands machinery, makes $9.60 per week. There are ten 
overlookers in the Bowman Mills. The superintendent of a 
mill gets about £3, or $14.58." 

" These wages seem fairly good," said I, " but are not the 
necessaries of life so dear as to counteract the advantage of 
good wages ?" 

In response to this question Mr. Sunderland gave me some 
facts and figures, which I will put into the form of a table. 

Table of Prices j Halifax, England, Decemher, 1885. 

Flour, No. 1 per pound 2 J to 3 cents. 

Flour, No. 2 " " 2f " 2 J " 

Ham " " 16 "23 " 

Beef, best " " 20 "22 " 

" second grade " " 15 "18 " 

Pork, fresh " " 15 "18 " 

" salt " " 13 "16 " 

Tea " " 40 "50 " 

Coffee " " 22 "35 " 

Eggs, in December per dozen 24 " 

" " summer " " 12 " 

Coal, retail per ton $3 60 " 

" wholesale " " 1 80 " 

Eent of house with two bedrooms 14 x 12 feet, parlor and 

small kitchen, per week 88 " 

Gas, per 1000 feet 54 " 

Sunday suit, woollen clothing 6 00 to 9 GO " 

Shoes, first class, machine sewed 1 92 " 



FACTORY LIFE IN ENGLAND. 257 

With such figures thirty to thirty-five shillings ($7.20 to 
$8.40) per week is not bad. I was, therefore, not altogether 
unprepared to find Mr. Sunderland's home neat, clean, and com- 
fortable. There were, in all, four rooms — two bedrooms, a kitch- 
en, and a dining-room (also used as a parlor). This room was 
carpeted, and the walls hung with pictures. An open fire threw 
out a grateful warmth — the general atmosphere was one of 
plain, honest comfort. Mrs. Sunderland, a bright, smiling little 
woman, formerly a mill operative, but now staying at home at- 
tending to her baby, was frank and talkative. 

" You should be here of a Saturday," she said, " then the 
men have a great time at foot-ball. They stop w^ork at one, 
and play from that time almost until night. Clubs come from 
other towns — Bradford, Leeds, Manchester; but our Halifax 
club can play as w^ell as any of them ; it always holds its own, 
doesn't it, AViUr 

Mr. Sunderland good-naturedly corroborated her remarks, 
and, turning to me, added, 

"But as foot-ball is not much played in America, I fear it 
would not interest you. You would probably take more inter- 
est in a visit to our club. There is to be an entertainment in 
the hall to-night, to which you will be welcome." 

Of course I went. The songs and recitations were good, so 
was the lecture ; I have rarely spent a more pleasant evening 
than that passed with the factory hands and mechanics of the 
West Ward Liberal Club, Halifax. 

'* These clubs," said Mr. Sunderland, " are becoming very pop- 
ular in the great manufacturing districts. Their influence is 
decidedly beneficial. The cost of membership is only one dol- 
lar and forty-four cents a year. Instead of loafing on the streets 
or at the publican's, the workman passes part of his leisure time 
at his club-house, in the reading-room, or in the billiard-room, 
or in the lecture-hall, listening to the lectures, musicales, etc., 
which are given at frequent intervals throughout the year." 

From figures furnished me, and from my own observations, 
I am able to state exactly the income and cost of living of Eng- 



258 A TRAMP TRIP. 

lisli mill hands. The following table, for the family of a cot- 
ton-spinner, will serve as an illustration, not only for that par- 
ticular class of labor, but for other classes also ; the bricklayer, 
the blacksmith, the carpenter, etc., earns and spends about the 
same that the spinner does. 

English Cotton-spinner, 

Family of three : parents and child. 

Condition, — Occupy tenement-house containing four rooms. House is 
comfortably furnished, looks neat and clean. Parlor is carpeted and well 
lighted, two windows looking on street. Wife was formerly a weaver in 
carpet-mills, but does not work now ; has a brother in the army, and a sis- 
ter emigrated to New Zealand. Earnings of the father per week, $7.91 ; 
per year, $411.32. 

Diet. — Breakfast : tea or coffee, bread and butter, sometimes bacon. 
Dinner : beef or chops, bread, potatoes, occasionally a pudding. Supper : 
tea, bread and butter ; sometimes potatoes or other remnant of dinner 
warmed over. 

Cost of Living : 



Bread and flour , . . 




Per 
.. . 9 


Day. 
cents 


Per Year. 
.... $32 95 
43 80 


Meats, salt and fresh 




... 12 
.. . 4 


Coffee and tea 




14 56 


Potatoes and vegetables 

Milk 




... n 

... 6 




25 55 




21 90 


Fruits, dried and fresh 




... 2 




7 80 


Groceries of all other kinds. . . 




. . . 41 




149 65 


Total cost of food . 




. . . 81 cftnts 


$295 71 


Clothing 








87 60 


Gas, and other light 








5 51 


Fuel 








14 25 


Club dues 








1 44 


Rent 








45 76 


Incidentals 








11 96 


Total cost of hving. 
Total earnings, one 
Deficit 


three persons . . . 
person 




. ... $412 23 
. ... 411 32 
91 



At the entrance of the British Museum is a warning, part of 
which reads thus: 

"No bags, parcels, or coats carried over the arm allowed in 



TIMIDITY OF LONDONERS. 259 

the building until they have been carefully searched by the po- 
lice." 

Fortunately, the day I visited the museum it was raw and 
cold. I did not carry my overcoat on my arm, and thus es- 
caped being searched by the police. The English manifest in 
some things a wonderful amount of timidity. They refuse to 
have a tunnel under the Channel for fear the French will crawl 
through and eat them; they shiver and call "police" when an 
Irishman passes with a lunch or a tin can. At the time of my 
visit London was in an uproar because some crank had thrown 
a petition into the royal carriage. The imagination of the 
timid Londoners saw in this a plot against her Majesty's life. 

The Guelphs are a prolific race; whenever a son or daughter 
of the Queen marries, the English people are drained of im- 
mense sums to pay the marriage bills and annuities. When 
I asked an Englishman what benefit the people received in re- 
turn, he replied that the Prince of Wales was the hardest work- 
er in all England, that he was constantly in demand to open 
expositions, lay corner-stones, dedicate libraries, etc. There 
are, doubtless, thousands of Englishmen but a degree removed 
from starvation, who, if they considered the matter, would bit- 
terly protest against helping to maintain out of their miserable 
pittance a royal family, and the numerous German princes im- 
ported to mate with the daughters of that family. These, how- 
ever, are outweighed by that larger class who, though ready at 
a moment's warning to resist interference of the sovereign in 
affairs of government, yet cling tenaciously to the old system, 
to the empty husk with all its form and folly. 

Twenty odd years ago Dr. T. L. Nichols, an American, origi- 
nated in London the idea of '^ vegetarian " restaurants. He 
began with one small, ill -equipped establishment; there are 
now dozens of them, and each a bonanza to proprietors and 
customers. The bill of fare contains ordinarily such dishes as 
oatmeal or crushed wheat, with sugar and milk; various kinds 
of vegetable soup ; potatoes, lentils, and other vegetables ; pud- 
dings of rice or bread, stewed fruit, pie, bread, tea, coffee, and 



260 A TEAMP TEIP. 

milk. For sixpence — twelve cents — any three of these dishes 
are served ; for fourpence, any two. Each course is liberal in 
quantity. For sixpence, and even for fourpence, a very sub- 
stantial meal may be had. In London few housewives bake 
bread. It is otherwise in provincial cities, where a large pro- 
portion of workmen's families do their own baking. They 
seem particularly fond of a light bread or roll called " scone,'' 
made with soda, and eaten while hot. 

I heard Dr. Nichols give a lecture in the Royal Aquarium on 
" How to Live on Twopence a Day." The venerable lecturer, a 
man far in the seventies, but still alert and active, said he had 
for experiment limited himself to twopence a day, and had act- 
ually fattened ! If I remember correctly, his main diet was 
crushed wheat and milk. The economical traveller will do 
well to remember these vegetarian restaurants. A very good 
one is that on the Minnories, No. 155. 

One bitter December day, when on a ramble through the 
maze of courts and inner courts of the Temples of Law, I came 
across a grave on which lay a bunch of fresh roses. The grave 
was that of Oliver Goldsmith. There was a kind of mournful 
pleasure in this rencontre. As I stood there, the sleety rain 
dripping from my umbrella on the fast freezing flowers, I 
thanked the unknown hands that had paid this tribute to the 
memory of the unfortunate poet and scholar. Near Gold- 
smith's grave are the tombs of Knight Templars of the thir- 
teenth and fourteenth centuries. 

Eeturning from Holloway prison, whither I had gone to visit 
Editor Stead of the Pall Mall Gazette^ I stopped at Bunhill 
Cemetery, near Finsbury Circus, and walked through that 
small graveyard in the heart of London, surrounded by tall 
buildings and manufactories. I noted the tombs of John Bun- 
yan, Isaac Watts, and " Eichard Cromwell, his vault." On the 
base of a plain shaft is this inscription : ** Daniel De Foe, born 
1661, died 1731. Author of Robinson Crusoe. This monu- 
ment is the result of an appeal in the Christian World news- 
paper to the boys and girls of England for funds to place a 



bunyan's tomb. 261 

suitable memorial upon the grave of Daniel M. De Foe. It 
represents the united contributions of 1700 persons. Sep- 
tember 1870." 

An odd epitaph in Bunhill Cemetery reads: "Here lies 
dame Mary Page, relict of Sir Gregory Page; died 1728 aged 
56. In 67 months she was tapped 61 times. Had taken away 
240 gallons of water without ever repining at her case or fear- 
ing the operation." 

On Bunyan's tomb is a recumbent figure. Originally the 
figure may have resembled the author of " Pilgrim's Progress," 
but the stone has crumbled and yellowed with years ; time and 
small urchins have destroyed whatever resemblance may once 
have existed. 

I stopped a man on High Holborn Road to inquire the way 
to Smithfield Market. The man looked like a butcher — fat, 
red cheeks, and brawny arms. I told him I was an American. 

** What !" he exclaimed, " an American ? Why, I understand 
you very well. You speak as good English as I do. Come 
with me, I will show you the market myself." 

He accompanied me on my stroll through the enormous 
market, and pointed out the huge elevators which receive car- 
loads of meat at a time from the underground roads, and shoot 
it up to the market, where it is placed on the stalls for sale. 
The Englishman did not seem to recover from his surprise at 
my fluent English. 

" Blarst my heyes," I heard him mutter as I walked away — 
"blarst my heyes if them Yankee chaps ain't cute — been in 
Lunnon only three weeks and can talk as good as I do !" 

In London, the modern Babylon, the city of five million in- 
habitants, there is so much wealth on the one hand and pov- 
erty on the other, the searcher after labor facts finds it difli- 
cult to make a beginning. Chance favored me. Strolling 
along the Thames I saw the dock-yard navvies at work. They 
aroused my interest, and the next week was spent in studying 
this class, undoubtedly the most wretched and poorly paid 
class in England. 



262 A TRAMP TEIP. 

Though the absolute sum received by the regularly employed 
navvy is greater than the wage of a laborer or even skilled me- 
chanic in Italy, yet the former has a more trying and inclement 
climate; his wants, fancied or real, are more numerous; he is 
less able to maintain health and happiness on eighty cents a 
day than is done in Italy on half that sum. The condition of 
the irregularly employed navvy is, of course, even more de- 
plorable. 

The docts of London, Liverpool, and the other large sea- 
ports are crowded with these miserable men awaiting the un- 
certain chance of a few hours' employment. Through the fogs 
and drizzling rains of the long English winters they stand shiv- 
ering around, and when a vessel arrives to be unloaded, a hun- 
dred men apply for work where only ten are needed. In a 
word, this class of men, though willing, even anxious to work, 
may be regarded as in a state little short of beggary. Within 
the last few years charitable societies have turned their atten- 
tion in some degree towards this large and needy class, and 
now, at many places, especially at the London Docks, they have 
established stands where is furnished at a nominal price a plain, 
nourishing meal consisting ordinarily of hot soup, beef hash, 
lentils, coffee, and bread. Were it not for this charity it would 
be difficult to understand how the London and Liverpool and 
other dockyard navvy succeeds in existing — existing, for that 
he does not live the following table will show : 

London Dockyard Laborer, 

Family numbers five : parents and three children. 

Condition, — Occupy two small rooms, uncomfortable and unclean. Fam- 
ily dress miserably ; all drink too much. Father receives ten cents pjer 
hour when employed, but does not average above five or six hours per 
working-day. Wife goes out house-cleaning, scrubbing, etc. The chil- 
dren are for the most part left to care for themselves — are growing up. 

apparently, to become either beggars or criminals. 

Per Year. 

Earnings of the father $145 00 

Earnings of the mother 91 25 

Total earnings per year $236 25 



WRETCHED STATE OF LONDON DOCKYARD LABORERS. 263 

Diet. — Breakfast: bread and coifee. Dinner; bread, potatoes, and oc- 
casionally a bit of fat pork or bacon ; seldom or never fresh meat. Sup- 
per : bread and coffee (cbiccory). 

Cost of Living : 

Per Day. 

Bread and flour 21 cents 

Coffee and cliiccory 3f " 

Milk 3 " 

Meats 4 '' 

Cheese 2f " 

Potatoes 3 J *^ 

Other vegetables (lentils, etc.) 2|- " 

Groceries 11 *' 



Per Year. 


$76 


65 


13 


00 


10 


95 


14 


60 


8 


34 


12 


n 


9 


12 


40 


15 



Food costs five people 51 cents 

Rent at two shillings per week 24 96 

Beer, gin, and tobacco 22 00 

Clothing 21 90 

Fuel, lights, and incidentals 17 00 

Total cost of living for family of five $271 39 

Here, it will be seen, is a family of five persons living on 
fifty-one cents a day, using in a year only twenty-two dollars' 
worth of clothing, and practising economy in every way, jei at 
the end of the year coming out $35.14 in debt. 

Is free-trade responsible for this miserably paid class of la- 
bor? 

"Yes," say Protectionists. "England has free - trade, she 
also has pauper labor ; ergo^ free-trade causes pauper labor." 

This neat and nimble logic is too much for my sluggish 
reason to grasp. I examined the official statistical reports and 
learned that if England has paupers now under free-trade, it 
had many more forty years ago under protection, notwithstand- 
ing the population was less then than now. Speaking in round 
numbers, while the population in 1860 was under 29,000,000, 
and in 1885 was over 35,000,000, the number of paupers has 
decreased from 850,000 in 1860 to 780,000 in 1885 ; the num- 
ber of criminals convicted in 1860 was 14,000, in 1885 only 
11,000. Savings-bank deposits have increased from £40,000,- 



264 A TRAMP TRIP. 

000 ill 1860 to £90,000,000 in 1885. The national debt in 
1860 was £822,000,000, in 1885 only £740,000,000. Exports 
in 1860 amounted to £165,000,000, in 1885 to £296,000,000. 
Shipping in 1860 amounted to 4,600,000 tons, in 1885 to 
7,400,000 tons. 

In other words, with an increase in population of 7,000,000, 
the national debt has been decreased by £82,000,000, the num- 
ber of paupers has been decreased by 70,000 ; exports have in- 
creased by £131,000,000; the tonnage of English vessels has 
been increased by 2,800,000 tons ; the prices of all necessaries 
of life have become lower; wages have risen — and all within 
the last twenty-five years under a free-trade policy. 



THE LAW OF THE ROAD. 265 



CHAPTER XXVIII. 

ENGLISH ENGINES AND ROADS. — A SOCIALIST MEETING IN LIVER- 
POOL. — ODD ARGUMENTS IN FAVOR OF TEMPERANCE AND IRISH 
HOME RULE.— HINTS TO PEDESTRIANS. —SUMMARY AND CONCLU- 
SION OF **THE TRAMP TRIP." 

The trains between London and Liverpool are drawn by 
huge engines, with driving-wheels six and a half and seven feet 
in diameter. The rate of speed ranges between fifty and sixty 
miles an hour. In England, and also in some of the European 
States, the law of the road is just the reverse of ours. Railway- 
trains, carriages, trucks, etc., all go to the left, not to the right. 
**Keep to the left (not right) as the law directs," is the sign 
one sees on stations and guide-posts. 

I attended an open-air meeting in Liverpool. The speaker 
was an Irishman. He employed a novel argument in favor of 
Irish home rule. 

" Give Ireland home rule," he said, from his stand on a bar- 
rel top, "and you English workmen will have less competition. 
Thousands of Irishmen will return to their own country. In- 
stead of three Irishmen looking for one man's place, there will 
be only one Englishman where the employer wants three." 

The crowd seemed impressed by this argument, but hooted 
when the speaker went into a rhapsody over Ireland, ** the land 
of morality, of virtue, and piety." 

The orator who followed the home rule advocate was a So- 
cialist. He described a visit to the mansion of the Duke of 
Westminster at Chester : 

"Some of the chairs cost ninety guineas. The ceiling of 
one room cost fifteen thousand pounds. Those chairs are 
yours. You made them ; why do you not keep them ? You 
12 



268 A TRAMP TRIP. 

get only thirty shillings a week; the duke's income is fifteen 
thousand pounds a week. Does he earn that money ? No ; it 
is yours. Shoemakers work fourteen hours a day making 
shoes ; their own shoes let water in at one end and out at the 
other. All we want is to keep a fair share of what we our- 
selves produce. Through all the ages we have built palaces 
and dwelt in hovels [cries of '^ Hear, hear !"]. The duke's dogs 
and horses are better fed than the men who built his palace. I 
would take away some of the duke's fifteen thousand pounds a 
week and the Queen's fourteen hundred pounds a day, and add 
to the four shillings a day of the laborer, the artisan, the me- 
chanic. It is they who earn that money; it is they w^ho should 
keep it." 

The vast crowd that listened to this man's address was com- 
posed in great part of hard, honest toilers. They listened at- 
tentively, and occasionally cried, " Hear, hear !" in token of 
approbation. Straws show which way the wind blows. There 
is an undercurrent in England that in time will come to the 
surface and sweep away king and dukes and purse-proud em- 
ployers. 

The Socialist speaker had not used tobacco for seventeen 
years. 

" I do not use it," he said, ^' because I am determined not to 
help the robbing Government by paying tobacco duty." 

He advised workmen to eschew both whiskey and tobacco 
for the same reason. His advice was good ; the reason, how- 
ever, seemed to me to savor of absurdity. 

Perhaps few or none who have accompanied me in these 
pages on my " Tramp Trip " will care to make such a trip in 
person. I will nevertheless add a few hints on pedestrianism. 
The first and most important item is the outfit. Unless that 
be selected with judgment the trip will seem more like work 
than pleasure. Two or three pounds more or less are ordina- 
rily of no moment ; but when it comes to packing two or three 
pounds extra on your back five hundred or a thousand miles, 



HINTS TO PEDESTRIANS. 267 

it is a matter of considerable moment. If the tonr be begun 
in Italy the outfit should be provided at home. Few tourists 
walk in Italy, and pedestrian outfits cannot be bought there. 
The knapsack must be water-proof and limp, so as to permit 
its being folded when not in use. I tried twenty trunk-stores 
in New York before finding the right article. There were any 
number of regular army knapsacks to be had, but they are 
made on frames always of a certain bulk, empty or filled, and 
are not desirable. 

A knapsack secured, the next thing is to fill it. Absolutely 
indispensable articles are a compass and map of the country to 
be visited, a water-proof coat, two suits of underclothing, an 
extra flannel shirt, and a pocket drinking-cup. This allowance 
of clothing may seem small, it is, however, enough. In Europe 
you can give out linen at night to be washed, and receive it 
again the next day. New articles can always be bought when 
needed. The map is best obtained abroad. For one dollar I 
got a map of Italy giving all the national pikes and even small 
dirt roads. With such a map it is difficult to mistake the way. 
The rubber-coat is serviceable not only against rain but also 
cold ; for though in sunny Italy, when you climb her hills you 
will find what Hamlet found at Elsinore — a nipping and an 
eager air. The ground may be damp, but spread out your 
rubber-coat, lay your head on your knapsack, and you are in- 
dependent of chill and dampness. I have often slept thus on 
the roadside even during a rain. The rubber-coat should be 
bought in America. I had to pay in Naples four dollars and 
a half for an indifferent article that in New York would not 
have cost three dollars. 

When the outfit is obtained there remains another essential — 
a stout pair of legs and a stout will. The first day or two — 
feet blistered, muscles swollen, limbs stiff and tired — ^the novice 
is apt to become disheartened. My second day out from Na- 
ples was rainy ; the twenty-five-mile walk of the preceding day 
had made great blisters on my feet. When I limped into a 
village inn about dark, weary and soaked, I would have taken 



268 A TEAMP TRIP. 

to the railroad had there been one, and ended my pedestrian 
trip then and there. Fortunately, the nearest railroad station 
was fifteen miles distant. In two or three days the blisters dis- 
appeared, the soreness of the muscles abated, and I felt thor- 
oughly happy. 

Only he who has tried it can appreciate the independence of 
a walking tour. You make your own time schedule — come 
when you please and go when you please. That old castle on 
the hill to the right looks interesting. From the train, if seen 
at all, it is only a glimpse ; but the pedestrian sallies gayly 
forth, ascends the hill at leisure, rummages among the ruins, 
clambers over the walls, and sees a hundred objects of which the 
traveller who is hurried from point to point never even dreams. 

Once, in the Neapolitan States, as I was walking along, a 
curious - looking stone pen about three feet high caught my 
eye. On investigating, I found, instead of a pen, a singular 
well thirty or forty feet deep, square in shape, and a kind of 
stairs in the interior leading down to the bottom. These stairs 
or steps consisted merely of stones projecting from the sides 
of the well, one a foot or so under the other, winding around 
from side to side until the bottom was reached. There was no 
railing, and though the steps were slippery with moss, I vent- 
ured to make the descent. A drink of clear, cold water and a 
view of the subterranean aqueduct that led from the well re- 
warded me for my trouble. This is a sample of the incidents 
which make a pedestrian trip enjoyable. 

Expenses depend upon the willingness of the pedestrian to 
economize. A four and a half months' trip through Italy need 
not cost above a hundred dollars, including steamship passage 
from and to New York. The price of a round -trip ticket, 
steerage. New York to Naples, is fifty dollars ; time consumed 
in making the round trip is six weeks. On the remaining fifty 
dollars the pedestrian can, as I have shown, live very comfort- 
ably for one hundred days. 

Suppose it were desired to make the trip I did, only without 
any walking, the expense account would stand thus : 



SUMMARY AND CONCLUSION. 269 

New York to Naples, via Marseilles — 4456 miles $25 00 

Railroad fare in Italy, taking in Naples, Rome, Florence, Pisa, 

Bologna, Venice, Milan, Como — 596 miles 11 11 

Railroad fares in Switzerland 7 25 

Railroad fares in Germany, taking in Strasbourg, Baden-Baden, 

Heidelberg, Stuttgart, Munich— 363 miles 4 30 

Railroad and Danube boat fares in Austria, taking in Linz, Vienna, 

Buda-Pestli 6 65 

Buda-Pestli to Constantinople, through Bulgaria 12 65 

Constantinople to Odessa, Black Sea (steerage) 3 00 

Odessa to Berlin, taking in Kijew, Moscow, and St. Petersburg — 

2220 miles 29 36 

Berlin to Cologne — 364 miles 5 80 

Cologne to Paris — 306 miles 5 '75 

Paris to London — 255 miles (2d class) 10 00 

London to New York 15 00 

Total cost of transportation from New York and back. . .$135 87 

The distance covered is nearly if not quite fourteen thousand 
miles, seven thousand of which, on steamers, includes subsist- 
ence as well as transportation. 

A year's subsistence at half a dollar a day amounts to 
$182.50. Thus the entire cost of a year's trip, embracing 
every land from Gibraltar to the Bosporus, amounts to 
$318.37. 

I am undecided whether to advise the pedestrian to go alone 
or to choose a companion. Travelling without a companion 
is undeniably lonesome ; there is, however, this advantage — it 
compels you to mingle with the people. You learn more about 
them than if you had a friend to talk with. Although I start- 
ed alone, I frequently had the company of other travellers. 
Mr. Arnold Strothotte, of St. Louis, Mr. John Bradley, of Phil- 
adelphia, and Mr. George L. Burr, of Ithaca, N. Y. — chance 
travelling companions — were with me on a portion of my trip. 
I owe them thanks for lightening a number of what otherwise 
might have proved very lonesome hours. 

After an eleven days' voyage from Liverpool, the steamer 
Cit^ of Chester landed at New York, and thus ended my 
"Tramp Trip." 



1 



f 



APPENDIX. 



I RECROSSED the oceau in midwinter, and before leaving Loudon 
Lad made to order by a fasliionable tailor a heavy Melton over- 
coat. It cost sixteen dollars. In America forty dollars vrould 
have been the price. 

On arriving in New York, I stood on the platform of a Third 
Avenue surface car and talked with the driver, a w^earied-looking 
man, his face pinched with cold. His overcoat, like Nanki-Poo, 
was a ^' thing of shreds and patches." He looked at my Melton ad- 
miringly. Presently he addressed me : 

"I would like to ask you, sir," he said, ^'how much you gave for 
that coat V 

'' Sixteen dollars." 

His eyes opened with astonishment. 

^'Sixteen dollars! Why, this thing of mine cost eighteen. Tell 
me, where did you get your coat ?" 

*^In London." 

The poor fellow turned to his horses sadly disappointed. 

Protectionists talk of the horrors of an ^' inundation" of English 
goods. As I looked at the shivering car-driver, it seemed a pity he 
could not be ^^ inundated" by a good warm overcoat. That car- 
driver works thirteen or fourteen hours a day for two dollars. If 
his clothing, fuel, and other necessaries were reduced fifty per cent, 
in price he could live on fifty i)er cent, less than he now spends; 
he could afford to work fewer hours and have a little time to pass 
with his family. But Protectionists oppose such a reduction, on 
the ground that free-trade means pauper wages, and tariffs mean 
high wages. 

Investigation showed me that that country in Europe with least 
protection pays wos^Avages, that free-trade has nothing to do with 



272 APPENDIX. 

the poverty of any European State. The real cause of poverty 
iu Europe is tlie great wealth of the few. The masses must always 
be poor when a few kings and nobles hoard such enormous lion's 
shares. The Czar of Russia drains his people of $9,125,000 a year, 
or $25,000 a day. Germany's emperor receives $6,000 a day; the 
emperor of Austria $10,000. The Sultan of Turkey gets $18,000 a 
day and five hundred wives to boot. Is it surprising that the peo- 
ple of Turkey are dissatisfied ? Is not the costly bauble of mon- 
archy, the oppression of standing armies, the scandalous waste by 
corrupt of&cials of the people's money — is not all this in great part 
responsible for the poverty and suffering of the European masses ? 

How absurd to attribute the cause to free-trade ; free-trade, the 
very thing which European States have not — the very thing which 
they know least about ! When America has a monarchy and an 
aristocracy and a royal famil^^ alone costing sixty-five million dol- 
lars a year — the yearly sum Europe pays directly for royalty — 
when that day comes, then indeed it may come to pass that the 
level of American labor will sink to the level of European labor. 

England — England with its royalty, its endless red tape, its idle 
aristocracy, its array of useless officials — England alone of all mo- 
narchical forms of governments pays its laboring classes living 
wages, and England alone has free-trade. America with all its 
abundance of land, its democratic and comparatively inexpensive 
government, its sparsity of j^opulation — even favored America is 
pulling behind that little island in the sea; is taking a second 
place when her natural advantages entitle her to the verj^ foremost 
seat among the nations. Formerly we had the lion's share of the 
carrying trade of the world. What have we now? I have been 
in the ports of almost all the seas on the globe. When I saw an 
American vessel I stared at it curiously, so great a rarity was it 
amid the forest of masts of vessels belonging to other countries. 

Italy has protective tariffs; skilled Italian mechanics earn only 
half a dollar a day. England has no tariffs, bnt English mechanics 
earn from $1.21 to $1.50 a day. 

Germany is heavily protected ; a German bricklayer earns sixty 
cents a day. German weavers and spinners receive sixty cents for 
a day of twelve to thirteen hours. For a day of only nine to ten 
hours the unprotected English spinner gets $1.15. 

Russia has high tariffs ; but the Russian laborer averages one* 
third less waj^jos than the EnoUsh laborer. 



APPENDIX. 273 

I have prepared two tables ; tlie one will show at a glance the 
wages received in protected Ital^^, Germany, Switzerland, Eussia, 
France, and Belgium as compared with the wages received in free- 
trade England — the other will show the amount of tariffs imposed 
upon certain articles by different European States. For the wage- 
table a claim to only approximate and relative correctness is made; 
to attemi)t more in so small a compass would be impossible as well 
as absurd. Wages differ in the same country, in the same town, in 
the same shop or factory. It is sufficient to the purpose to give 
the average, or general figure. For instance, in Berlin bricklayers 
receive four to ^ve marks a day — ninety-eight cents to one dollar 
and twenty cents. But, generally speaking, the German brick- 
layer receives no more than fifty to sixty cents a day ; moreover, 
the cost of living in Berlin is dearer than elsewhere in Germany. 
I weigh such facts, and in my table state the wages of a German 
bricklayer as being sixty cents a day. 

For Russia the estimates are based upon the time actually en- 
gaged at work, which is seldom above nine months a year. To de- 
duct one-fourth from the amount received when actually at work, 
in order to strike an average for the year, would convey an incor- 
rect idea, for the Russian lives only nine months, the other three he 
is existing — existing at a cost of from five to six cents a day. Dur- 
ing the three coldest months of the winter he remains buried in his 
hovel, making nothing, spending almost nothing — hibernating like 
the bear. I have for these reasons chosen to regard the Russian 
year as consisting of but nine months, and the figures in the table 
are constructed on that basis. 

Let the Protectionist read these tables and say why, if protection 
protects, if tariffs make high wages, the protected States of Europe 
are in so impoverished a condition. If free-trade causes stagnation 
and low wages, why is England so far ahead of her protected Euro- 
pean competitors ? so far ahead of her own condition forty years 
ago, before she had the sense to adopt a free-trade policy ? 

Until these questions are answered, the thoughtful student can- 
not but ask himself, 

" Does protection protect ?" 
12'*' 



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274 



APPENDIX. 



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Raglan. By Alexander William Kinglake. With Maps and Plans. 
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MAURY'S PHYSICAL GEOGRAPHY OF THE SEA. The Physical 
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HALLAM'S LITERATURE. Introduction to the Literature of Europe 
during the Fifteenth, Sixteenth, and Seventeenth Centuries. By Henry 
Hallam. 2 vols., 8vo, Cloth, $4: 00; Sheep, $5 00. 

HALLAM'S MIDDLE AGES. View of the State of Europe during the 
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HALLAM'S CONSTITUTIONAL HISTORY OF ENGLAND. The 

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the Death of George IT. By Henry Hallam. 8vo, Cloth, $2 00; 
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NEWCOMB'S ASTRONOMY. Popular Astronomy. By Simon New- 
comb, LL.D. With 112 Engravings, and 5 Maps of the Stars. 8vo, 
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VAN-LENNEP'S BIBLE LANDS. Bible Lands: their Modern Custom, 
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GROTE'S HISTORY OF GREECE. 12 vols., 12mo, Cloth, $18 00; 
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ENGLISH MEN OF LETTERS. Edited bv John Moeley. The fol- 
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Johnson. By L. Stephen. — Gibbon. By J. C. Morison. — Scott. 
By R. H. Hutton. — Shelley. By J. A. Symonds. — Goldsmith. By 
W. Black. — Hume. By Professor Huxley. — Defoe. By W. Minto. — 
Burns. By Principal Shairp. — Spenser. By R. W. Church. — Thack- 
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L. Stephen. — Byron. By J. Nichols. — Locke. By T. Fowler. — 
Wordsworth. By F. W. H. Myers. — Hawthorne. By Henry 
James, Jr. — Dryden. By G. Saintsbury. — Landor. By S. Colvin. 
— De Quincey. By D. Masson. — Lamb. By A. Ainger. — Bentley. 
By R. C. Jebb. —Dickens. By A. W. Ward. —Gray. By E. W. 
Gosse. — Swift. By L. Stephen. — Sterne. By H. D. Traill. — Macau- 
lay. By J. C. Morison. — Fielding. By Austin Dobson. — Sheridan. 
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PRIME'S POTTERY AND PORCELAIN. Pottery and Porcelain of 
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CESNOLA'S CYPRUS. Cyprus : its Ancient Cities, Tombs, and Tem- 
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dence in that Island. By L. P. di Cesnola. With Portrait, Maps, and 
400 Illustrations. 8vo, Cloth, Extra, Uncut Edges and Gilt Tops, $7 50. 

TENNYSON'S COMPLETE POEMS. The Complete Poetical Works of 
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FLAMMARION'S ATMOSPHERE. Translated from the French of 
Camille Flammarion. With 10 Chromo-Lithographs and 86 Wood- 
cuts. 8vo, Cloth, $6 00 ; Half Calf, $8 25. 

STRICKLAND'S (Miss) QUEENS OF SCOTLAND. Lives of the 
Queens of Scotland and English Princesses connected with the Regal 
Succession of Great Britain. By Agnes Strickland. 8 vols., 12mo, 
Cloth, $12 00 ; Half Calf, $26 00. 

BLAIKIE'S LIFE OF DAVID LIVINGSTONE. Memoir of his Per- 
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Valuable, Worls for Public and Private Libraries. 7 

BAKER'S ISMAILIA : a Narrative of the Expedition to Central Africa 
for the Suppression of the Slave-trade, organized by Ismail, Khedive of 
Egypt. By Sir Samuel W. Baker. With Maps, Portraits, and Illustra- 
tions. 8vo, Cloth, $5 00 ; Half Calf, $7 25. 

LIVINGSTONE'S SOUTH AFRICA. Missionary Travels and Re- 
searches in South Africa: including a Sketch of Sixteen Years' Kesi- 
dence in the Interior of Africa, and a Journey from the Cape of Good 
Hope to Loanda, on the West Coast ; thence across the Continent, down 
the River Zambesi, to the Eastern Ocean. By David Livingstone. 
With Portrait, Maps, and Illustrations. 8vo, Cloth, $4 50. 

LIVINGSTONE'S ZAMBESL Narrative of an Expedition to the Zam- 
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trated. 8vo, Cloth, $5 00. 

LIVINGSTONE'S LAST JOURNALS. The Last Journals of David 
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SH AKSPE ARE. The Dramatic Works of Shakspeare. With Notes. En- 
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Sheep, $5 00. In one vol., 8vo, Sheep, $4 00. 

CURTIS'S LIFE OF BUCHANAN. Life of James Buchanan, Fifteenth 
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GENERAL BEAUREGARD'S MILITARY OPERATIONS. The Mili- 
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1861 to 1865; including a brief Personal Sketch, and a Narrative of his 
Services in the War with Mexico, 1846 to 1848. By Alfred Roman, 
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traits, &c. 2 vols., 8vo, Cloth, $7 00; Sheep, $9 00; Half Morocco, 
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GIESELER'S ECCLESIASTICAL HISTORY. A Text-Book of Church 
History. By Dr. John C. L. Gieseler. Translated from the Fourth 
llevised German Edition. Revised and Edited by Rev. Henry B. 
Smith, D.D. Vols. L, IL, IIL, and IV., 8vo, Cloth, $2 25 each; 
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8 



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ALISON'S IIISTOKY OF EUROPE. From the Commencement of the 
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8 vols., 8vo, Cloth, $16 00. 

NEANDER'S LIFE OF CHRIST. The Life of Christ ; in its Historical 
Connection and its Historical Development. By Augustus Neander. 
Translated from the Fourth German Edition by Professors M'Clintock 
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NORDHOFF'S COMMUNISTIC SOCIETIES OF THE UNITED 
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GRIFFIS'S JAPAN. The Mikado's Empire : Book I. History of Japan, 
from 660 B.C. to 1872 A.D. Book IL Personal Experiences, Observa- 
tions, and Studies in Japan, from 1870 to 1874. By W. E. Griffis. 

Copiously Illustrated. 8vo, Cloth, $4 00; Half Calf, $6 25. 

SMILES'S HISTORY OF THE HUGUENOTS. The Huguenots: their 
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Samuel Smiles. With an Appendix relating to the Huguenots in 
America. Crown 8vo, Cloth, f 2 00. 

SMILES'S HUGUENOTS AFTER THE REVOCATION. The Hu- 
guenots in France after the Revocation of the Edict of Nantes ; with a 
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SMILES'S LIFE OF THE STEPHENSONS. The Life of George Ste- 
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of the Invention and Introduction of the Railway Locomotive. By Sam- 
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SCHLIEMANN'S ILIOS. Ilios, the City and Country of the Trojans. A 
Narrative of the Most Recent Discoveries and Researches made on tlie 
Plain of Troy. By Dr. Henry Schliemann. Maps, Plans, and Illustra- 
tions. Imperial 8vo, Illuminated Cloth, $12 00; Half Morocco, $15 00. 

SCHLIEMANN'S TROJA. Troja. Results of the Latest Researches and 
Discoveries on the Site of Homer's Troy, and in the Heroic Tumuli and 
other Sites, made in the Year 1882, and a Narrative of a Journey in the 
Troad in 1881. By Dr. Henry Schliemann. Preface by Professor 
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SCHWEINFURTH'S IIEAKT OF AFRICA. Tliree Years' Travels and 
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1868 to 1871. By George Schweinfurth. Translated by Ellen 
E. Frewer. Illustrated. 2 vols., 8vo, Cloth, $8 00. 

NORTON'S STUDIES OF CHURCH- BUILDING. Historical Studies 
of Cliurch-Building in the Middle Ages. Venice, Siena, Florence. By 
Charles Eliot Norton. 8vo, Cloth, $3 00. 

THE VOYAGE OF THE *' CHALLENGER." The Atlantic: an Ac- 
count of the General Results of the Voyage during 1873, and the Early 
Part of 1878. By Sir Wyville Thomson, K.C.B., F.R.S. Illustrated. 
2 vols., 8vo, Cloth, $12 00. 

BOSWELL'S JOHNSON. The Life of Samuel Johnson, LL.D., includ- 
ing a Journal of a Tour to the Hebrides. By James Boswell. Edited 
by J. W. Croker, LL.D., F.R.S. With a Portrait of Boswell. 2 vols., 
8vo, Cloth, $1 00; Sheep, $5 00. 

JOHNSON'S COMPLETE WORKS. The Works of Samuel Johnson, 
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ADDISON'S COMPLETE WORKS. The Works of Joseph Addison, 
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OUTLINES OF ANCIENT HISTORY. From the Earliest Times to the 
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Persians, Greeks, and Romans. By P. V. N. Myers, A.M., President of 
Farmers' College, Ohio. 12mo, Cloth, f 1 75. 

BROUGHAM'S AUTOBIOGRAPHY. Life and Times of Henry, Lord 
Brougham. Written by Himself. 3 vols., 12mo, Cloth, $6 00. 

BLUNTS BEDOUIN TRIBES OF THE EUPHRATES. Bedouin 
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Map and Sketclies by the Author, Bvo, Cloth, $2 50, 

THOMPSON'S PAPACY AND THE CIVIL POWER. The Papacy 
and the Civil Power. By the Hon. R. W. Thompson. Crown 8vo, 
Cloth, $3 00. 

ENGLISH CORRESPONDENCE. Four Centuries of English Letters. 
Selections from the Correspondence of One Hundred and Fifty Writers, 
from the Period of the Paston Letters to the Present T)i\\\ Edited by 
W, Baptiste Scoones. 12mo, Cloth, $2 00. 



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BOURNE'S LOCKE. The Life of John Locke. By PI. R. Fox Bourne. 
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COLERIDGE'S WORKS. The Complete Works of Samuel Taylor Cole- 
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trait, and an Index. 7 vols., 12mo, Cloth, $2 00 per volume; $12 00 
per set. 

CAMERON'S ACROSS AFRICA. Across Africa. By Yerney Lovett 
Cameron. Map and Illustrations. 8vo, Cloth, $5 00. 

BARTH'S NORTH AND CENTRAL AFRICA. Travels and Discov- 
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THOMSON'S SOUTHERN PALESTINE AND JERUSALEM. South- 
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Thomson, D.D. 140 Illustrations and Maps. Square 8vo, Cloth, $6 00 ; 
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THOMSON'S CENTRAL PALESTINE AND PHCENICIA. Central 
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DARWIN'S VOYAGE OF A NATURALIST. Voyage of a Naturalist. 
Journal of Researches into the Natural History and Geology of the Coun- 
tries Visited during the Voyage of H.M.S. Beagle round the World. By 
Charlks Darwin. 2 vols., 12mo, Cloth, $2 00. 

CYCLOPEDIA OF BRITISH AND AMERICAN POETRY. Edited 
by Epes Sargent. Royal 8vo, Illuminated Cloth, Colored Edges, $4 50. 

NICHOLS'S ART EDUCATION. Art Education Applied to Industry. 
By G.W.Nichols. Illustrated. 8vo, Cloth, $i 00; Half Calf, $G 25. 

CARLYLE'S FREDERICK THE GREAT. History of Friedrich IL, 
called Frederick the Great. By Thomas Carlyle. Portraits, Maps, 
Plans, &c. 6 vols., 12rao, Cloth, $7 50. 

CARLYLE'S FRENCH REVOLUTION. The French Revoluticn: a 
History. By Thomas Carlyle. 2 vols., 12mo, Cloth, $2 50. 

CARLYLE'S OLIVER CROMWELL. Oliver Cromwell's Letters and 
Speeches, including the Supplement to the First Edition. With Elucida- 
tions. By Tii03iAS Carlyle. 2 vols., 12mo, Cloth, $2 50. 

PAST AND PRESENT, CHARTISM, AND SARTOR RESARTUS. 
By Thomas Carlyle. 12rao, Cloth, $1 25. 

EARLY KINGS OF NORWAY, AND THE PORTRAITS OF JOHN 
KNOX. By Thomas Carlyle. 12mo, Cloth, $1 25. 

DAVIS'S CARTHAGE. Carthage and her Remains : being an Account 
of the Excavations and Researches on the Site of the Phoenician Metropo- 
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trated. 8vo, Cloth, $4 00; Half Calf, $6 25. 

BULWER'S LIFE AND LETTERS. Life, Letters, and Literary Re- 
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TON C'Owen Meredith"). Volume L Illustrated. 12mo, Cloth, $2 75. 

BULWER'S HORACE. The Odes and Epodes of Horace. A Metrical 
Translation into English. With Introduction and Commentaries. With 
Latin Text from the Editions of Orelli, Macleane, and Yonge. 12mo, 
Cloth, $1 75. 

BULWER'S MISCELLANEOUS WORKS. Miscellaneous Prose Works 
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EATON'S CIVIL SERVICE. Civil Service in Great Britain. A History 
of Abuses and Reforms, and their Bearing upon American Politics. By 
DoRMAN B. Eaton. 8vo, Cloth, |2 50. 



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TROLLOPE'S AUTOBIOGRAPHY. An Autobiography. By Anthony 
Trollope. With a Portrait. ]2mo, Cloth, fl 25. 

TROLLOPE'S CICERO. Life of Cicero. By Anthony Trollope. 2 
vols., 12mo, Cloth, $3 00. 

PERRY'S ENGLISH LITERATURE. English Literature in the Eigh- 
teenth Century. By Thomas Sergeant Perry. 12mo, Cloth, $2 00. 

PERRY'S HISTORY OF THE CHURCH OF ENGLAND. A History 
of the English Church, from the Accession of Henry VIII. to the Si- 
lencing of Convocation. By G. G. Perry, M. A. With a Sketch of the 
History of the Protestant Episcopal Church in the United States, by J. 
A. Spencer, S.T.D. Crown 8vo, Cloth, $2 50. 

ABBOTT'S HISTORY OF THE FRENCH REVOLUTION. The 
French Revolution of 1789, as Viewed in the Light of Republican In- 
stitutions. By John S. C. Abbott. Illustrated. 8vo, Cloth, $5 00; 
Sheep, $5 50 ; Half Calf, $7 25. 

ABBOTT'S NAPOLEON. The History of Napoleon Bonaparte. By 
John S. C. Abbott. Maps, Illustrations, and Portraits. 2 vols., 8vo, 
Cloth, $10 00; Sheep, $11 00; Half Calf, $14 50. 

ABBOTT'S NAPOLEON AT ^T. HELENA. Napoleon at St. Helena ; 
or. Anecdotes and Conversations of the Emperor during the Years of his 
Captivity. Collected from the Memorials of Las Casas, O'Meara, Mon- 
tholon, Antommarchi, and others. By John S. C. Abbott. Illustrated. 
8vo, Cloth, $5 00 ; Sheep, $5 50 ; Half Calf, $7 25. 

ABBOTT'S FREDERICK THE GREAT. The History of Frederick the 
Second, called Frederick the Great. By John S. C. Abbott. Illustra- 
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MCCARTHY'S HISTORY OF ENGLAND. A History of Our Own 
Times, from the Accession of Queen Victoria to the General Election of 
1880. By Justin McCarthy. 2 vols., 12mo, Cloth, $2 50. 

WxiTSON'S MARCUS AURELIUS ANTONINUS. By Paul Bar- 
ron Watson. Crown 8vo, Cloth, $2 50. 

FOLK-LORE OF SHAKESPEARE. By the Rev. T. F. Thiselton 
Dyer, M.A., Oxon., Author of ** British Popular Customs, Past and 
Present," etc. 8vo, Cloth, $2 50. 

THOMSON'S THE GREAT ARGUMENT. The Great Argument; or, 
Jesus Christ in the Old Testament. By W. H. Thomson, M.A., M.D. 
Crown 8v0j Cloth, $2 00. 



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